What Love Can Do
by Knight in Writing Armor
Summary: Branson would do anything, anything in the world to make her happy.
1. Chapter 1

What Love Can Do

"And here's the garage, I daresay Mr. Carson has already shown you your quarters," said the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes he thought it was. The garage was rather small, but had two beautiful motors in it, and he hoped that this family would let him drive them faster than twenty miles an hour.

"We're a large house here, Mr. Branson, as you can see, and we run a tight ship around here." She led him through the downstairs past the kitchen, where he attracted stares and giggles from all the kitchen maids.

"Now," she continued with a deep breath and looking rather care worn. I think that's everything Mr. Branson, now, off you go."

He took a minute to collect himself by the kitchen door, as Mrs. Hughes walked away.

Take a deep breath, Tom, he thought to himself. Here you are, a chauffeur at a real aristocratic house in England. Remember, don't let your temper get the better of you. Whatever they say to you doesn't matter. You know that you're the one who will prevail in the end. Change is coming. Your ma needs this money, and you'll not let her down.

He walked into the spacious kitchen of Downton Abbey, still uncomfortable in his new starched and crisp chauffeur's uniform. The house was huge and rather obscene, but he wasn't surprised to see that the downstairs was much "lower class" than the little of the upstairs that he had seen. The servants looked at him as he walked by, and soon the butler, Carson came up to him and said,

"Mr. Branson, his lordship would like a word with you in the library, if you don't mind following me please."

He did as he was bidden, noticing a dark haired man and a sour looking woman eyeing him from a corner. He made a mental not to avoid them both. He headed up the stairs, following the stiff back of the butler, and was led down an over-decorated hallway to a spacious library, where he was introduced with a

"You wanted to see the new chauffer my lord."

"Yes, please send him in."

Carson stepped aside to let him through, and his jaw almost dropped at the sheer number of books in the room. They were all around the walls, in handsome wooden shelves. He had run out of books to read fairly early in his teens, because he had read all the books in the local library before he was sixteen. Never before had he seen so many books, and he longed to get his hands on them.

He stepped somewhat nervously into the room, but with his back straight and his head held high, just like his ma and pa had taught him. The lord of the house was faced away from him as he walked in, but quickly turned around from whatever he had been doing at his desk and stood up, saying that it was good to see him.

This comment and the warmth of the man's voice threw him off a little. He had always been so convinced that the master was downright unpleasant to his servant, and Lord Grantham was not unpleasant at all, on the contrary, he seemed rather likeable. This was not at all what Tom had been expecting, and it left him at ease, though he did not take his guard down entirely, still slightly unsure of the powerful man before him.

The lord expressed his wishes that the servants of the house had shown him about, and that he had received everything that he needed. It was all very strange, he thought, to be talking to one so conspicuously far above him as though he were their friend. Did he do this to all new servants?

He vaguely registered that he had asked him if he would miss Ireland.

"I'll miss Ireland, but not the job," he went on to say something about the woman he had worked for in Ireland. He tried to appear pleasant, not wanting to make a bad impression on his first day, but it was easy enough to do with this man, easier than he had expected. When he expressed that his last job had been boring (which was the understatement of the century), the lord laughed easily, as though it did not bother him in the slightest that he was talking to a servant.

Unable to contain himself any longer, he looked around and said, trying to keep any longing from his voice,

"You've got a wonderful library."

He registered the surprise on the man's face, and thought, spitefully, yes, a chauffeur can be interested in books, too, not just your kind. But Lord Grantham's next sentence drove his spite from his mind.

"You're very welcome to borrow books if you wish."

He had to suppress the joy on his face. He had never been allowed to borrow books in the library at the old house that he worked at. They were only supposed to read cookbooks, even if they didn't cook.

"Really, milord?" unable to keep the surprise from seeping into his voice.

He went on to explain about the ledger in the corner that he made everyone, even his daughters (were there three of them?) use, and that usually only Carson and Mrs. Hughes (which one was that again?) took novels from the library, but his next question caught him off guard,

"What are your interests?"

"History and politics, mainly," he said, without a moments hesitation. He had no use for novels. The lord nodded, as though approving, but before he could say anything more than, "Heavens," Carson had come back in and he continued,

"Carson, Branson is going to borrow some books, he has my permission."

Tom could have hugged him, even if he was of the idiotic aristocracy. Books were his lifeblood, and he could not do without them.

"Is that all milord?"

"It is," the man said, kindly, "Off you go, good luck."

He bowed slightly and left the room, trying not to walk too quickly.

He walked back down the stairs and passed the kitchen again, the servants hall, and out into the courtyard to get a breath of fresh air. He walked to where he could see the spacious yard, looking around at all the land these people owned. At least the lawn was green and had not been colored pink to keep up with style or something. He was looking at the driveway, leaning against the stone wall of the courtyard, smelling the fresh air on his face when he saw her.

She must have been walking back from the village with her sisters. They were all talking and laughing merrily as they headed to the huge house. She was smaller and younger than the other two, but her face was not closed off as theirs were, but open and free, as though she had nothing in the world to hide. He long dark hair was in a braid down her back and her skirt blew in the breeze, just showing the tops of her gray boots. He watched her, and a strange need to protect her at all costs came over him. He gave his head a little shake, and when he looked back, they were out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

What Love Can Do Chapter 2

It had been several days since he had arrived at Downton Abbey, and though he was still having trouble distinguishing names and had gotten lost a few times, he managed to get around pretty well. He had sorted out who he liked and who he disliked. Anna, the head housemaid, Bates, the valet for Lord Grantham, William, the second footman, and Gwen, one of the housemaids, were all those that he liked. He enjoyed the company and wit of several others, including Mrs. Patmore, the cook. But there were also those that he disliked. Thomas, the first footman and O'Brian, the lady's maid for Lady Grantham were two of the most ghastly souls in the world. They were always in the courtyard or on the stairs plotting to bring down one member of the house or staff or another. They seemed to particularly enjoy plotting against Bates.

He liked Bates. He had dragged himself up after fighting in the war, and he had not allowed his injury stop him from being the valet of a lord in a large house. He respected a man who never gave up, even when it seemed to many that he was beaten. He also saw the way Bates and Anna looked at each other. He had seen that look when his father came home to his mother every night. It was clear that the two loved each other. Tom inwardly hoped that Thomas and O'Brian were not trying to spilt them up, there was so little true love when one was in service.

About three days into his new job, he was called by Carson to bring the car around to drive all the Crawley women into town. He helped them all into the car, and couldn't help looking at Lady Sybil longer than was necessary. He had only ever seen her and her sisters from afar. They were all beautiful, in their own ways. Lady Grantham looked very like her daughter, Mary. Lady Mary was beautiful, but looked cold and haughty, as though everyone around her was below her. Her sister, Lady Edith was also pretty, though not as much as her sisters, and she had the rather unattractive look of someone who had been utterly beaten. Then there was Lady Sybil. She was, in his opinion, the most beautiful of them all. Her face was long and thinner than her sisters, and she had beautiful blue eyes. But what struck him again was how open and friendly her face seemed to be. When he helped her into the car, she smiled at him, while the others had not even looked at him. When she smiled, he felt a little thrill go through him, one that he could not explain.

As he drove, he tried not to look over his shoulder at her, just to see what she was doing. What had come over him?

When he had dropped them off, he waited around, thinking about his first impressions of the Crawley women. He liked Lady Sybil best. The rest had the cold formality so typical of their kind. They were certainly better than some, but not by much. He could tell that Lady Sybil was different, and he appreciated that.

The women were in town for a few hours, and he took the opportunity to read the paper. When they returned, he opened the door for them, and he could not help overhearing some of their conversation. From what he gathered, Lady Sybil was to have a new dress made (because of course she didn't have enough already), but she seemed to be interested in women's rights. This caught Tom by surprise, he didn't think that women of her stature cared about politics at all. He looked at her with more interest as he helped her into the car. Perhaps he could find those pamphlets on the vote he had received. Maybe that would spark some more interest. But what was he thinking? Giving pamphlets on the vote to the daughter of his employer? Maybe he shouldn't. It was probably better that he didn't. He shouldn't be foolish, his family needed for him to have this job. No, he wouldn't give her anything.

But this decision didn't hold. The next day when Tom was taking Lady Sybil to have her new dress fitted, he took a leap of faith and engaged her in conversation,

"Will you have your own way do you think, with the frock?" he hoped this wasn't too personal of a question for her. He wondered if she would deign to answer him at all.

She said nothing, so he continued that he couldn't help overhearing her conversation the day before, and that, according to her mother, that she supported women's rights. He hoped that he hadn't gone too far, that she wouldn't think he was prying. There was a pause, still she said nothing, and it convinced him that he had indeed gone to far, he was just about to apologize when she said,

"I suppose I do."

Encouraged by this, he continued,

"Because I'm quite political," he inwardly wondered if he should continue or not, but now seemed as good a time as any to give her the pamphlets. He reached down and took them from the seat next to him (he had put them in the car before they left, just in case the opportunity arose for him to give them to her), and thrust them back towards the seat, without taking his eyes from the road, saying that he thought she might like some pamphlets on the vote. She took them and said, sincerely,

"Thank you,"

There was another short pause before she continued,

"But, please don't mention this to my father. Or my grandmother, one whiff of reform and she hears the rattle of the guillotine."

He laughed, pleased that she would make such a joke in front of him. Another pause, and she said, as though she had been working up the courage to do so,

"It seems rather unlikely, a revolutionary chauffeur."

He smiled. It was a little strange that she seemed interested in him. He didn't think that their kind spoke to his.

"Maybe. But I'm a socialist, not a revolutionary," he said. And then, without really meaning to, he continued, "And I won't always be a chauffeur."

He almost turned right around to see how she reacted to these words. He was sure that he had gone too far, that she would tell her father the second she got home, that he would be without a job by tomorrow. But she did not say anything. He drove her to Ripon, still inwardly hoping that she would not say anything to her father about what he had said to her. But then, he supposed that she would get in trouble for it as well, because she was talking to a servant.

They reached Ripon only a few minutes later, and she jumped out the car almost before he had stopped saying,

"I'll be late if I don't hurry. Thank you Branson, I shouldn't be too long!"

He watched her go, and then went to park the car nearby. Under the shade of a tree, he read that morning's paper, and tried not to think about Lady Sybil. He really had no idea what was getting into him. Why was he so concerned about her? She was above him, and would never see him as anything other than second class, as the rest of her kind did. But then, she was different. She cared about politics and seemed to care about people, even people like him. She was interesting, which was why he wanted to talk to her. But he had to be careful, he warned himself, because he still couldn't trust her. She was one of them, and there was no getting around that. He tried not to think about it, and get lost in his paper.

She came around the corner about an hour and a half later, and smiled at him as she helped him into the car. He wondered if he was brave enough to engage her in conversation on the way back to Downton. He spent several minutes working up the nerve to talk to her, and he finally said,

"Well, milady, how did it go?"

"What?"

"The frock? How did it go?"

"Oh, it went very well, thank you. She said she could have it ready for my by next Friday. I hope to shock them all with it."

"Oh, and why's that."

"Well, because…have you ever noticed that women cannot wear pants? Only boys can? Well I'm going to shock them all with a pair of harem pants. I'm very pleased with it. None of them have any idea."

He couldn't help smiling. It was a bold move for a lady like her, wearing harem pants to dinner. And, as they drove back to Downton, and though they talked of otherwise inconsequential things, and she spent a good deal of time buried in the pamphlets (of which he was very proud), he felt his respect for Lady Sybil rise.


	3. Chapter 3

**So, this is the third chapter, and I hope you are enjoying it. Please review, I have gotten some great advice so please keep it coming!  
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What Love Can Do Chapter 3

Another few weeks had passed after he had given Lady Sybil the pamphlets on the vote for women. Ever since this incident, he and she had been speaking more and more when he drove her somewhere. He started looking forward to these drives more and more. She was funny and laughed easily. He kept telling himself that he still couldn't get too comfortable around her, because she could easily take anything he said to her father. As time went by, however, he started to trust that she wouldn't. This was not only because she would also get in trouble for having such conversations with the chauffeur, but also because she was genuinely starting to like him.

He was also genuinely starting to like her, perhaps a little too much. He got this feeling when he started dreaming about her. It was happening increasingly, and it worried him, but he really didn't know why. She was interesting, funny, and he thought about their conversations before he went to bed many nights, so why was it so surprising that he was dreaming about her? He told himself that he only dreamed about her because of their conversations.

One day he took Lady Sybil to see the liberal candidate at the rally speak. The speech was rapidly getting out of hand, and he had to fight his way through an angry crowd to get to her. It was rapidly becoming a fight between the men and women of the crowd, but Sybil could only see the liberal candidate, and she was looking at him with rapt attention, even though she was being jostled by the crowd. When he got to her, he grabbed her shoulder and asked if she was all right. She smiled radiantly at him and said,

"Isn't it exciting?"

Her face was shining as she looked up at the speaker, but only seconds later Mrs. Crawley was there, telling Sybil that she needed to be taken home. Sybil shook her head and said,

"Not yet!"

But Mrs. Crawley insisted, and he could understand why. He had been to enough speeches and elections in his life in Ireland to know when things were getting out of hand, and things were getting out of hand here. She only agreed to leave when Mrs. Crawley said that if anything happened to her, he would lose his job. At this time he put in,

"Better safe than sorry, milady."

He fought to get her out of the fighting throng, pushing people out of the way so he could get her safely to the car, as they got through the crowd he said,

"The car's just here."

When they had been separated, she asked,

"Women must get the vote, mustn't they, Branson? Why must the Prime Minister resist the inevitable?"

He smiled inwardly at her question, and her enthusiasm for what was going on, but responded seriously that politicians couldn't recognize the inevitable. He closed her in the car where, thankfully, she was safe.

When they had gotten out of town and were, once again, driving back to Downton, she said to him,

"I hope you do go into politics, it's a fine ambition."

He smiled at her faith in him, but he could not help saying,

"Ambition or dream?" though he continued, "If I do, it's not about women and the vote for me, nor even about freedom for Ireland. It's the gap between the aristocracy and the poor and-" but he stopped, thinking that his outpouring of words and passion may have gone too far.

"And what?" she prompted him.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I don't mean to speak against his lordship."

"Why not, you obviously don't approve of him?"

He kicked himself inwardly, he had gone to far, and had seemingly lost her respect. He shouldn't have brought the aristocracy into it. He was such a fool! He needed to learn to hold his tongue! He had to try and fix it.

"Not as a representative of an oppressive class," he said honestly, trying to win her over, he turned around and looked at her, she was looking at him intently, with a half-smile on her face, "But he's a good man, and a decent employer."

There was a pause, and he was afraid that their conversation was over, that he had offended her, but then she said, with a smile in her voice,

"Spoken like a true politician."

He smiled, hoping it was meant to be a compliment, because he took it as such. He turned around again and laughed, looking at the smile on her face.

"What do I look like," she said, looking at herself in the glass. Apparently not satisfied, though he thought she looked very, very nice, she asked him to sneak her around the back, so her father didn't have to see her like that. He was pleased that he could see her that way, the way she felt her father couldn't see her. He did as he was bidden, and he helped her out of the car. She smiled at him, and said,

"Thank you Branson, thank you so much!"

She turned and ran into the house. He parked the car and tried not to think about the way she complimented him, or hoped that he followed his dreams, or the way she listened so intently to what he said. He tried to clean the garage and the cars to take his mind off her, but their conversation just kept going around and around in his head. Part of him was starting to realize why, but he pushed it away, he would not accept it.

After dinner, Bates told he and Anna how Lord Grantham had called Lady Sybil and Lady Grantham out on Lady Sybil being taken to the political speech that afternoon. He thought that Lord Grantham was being unreasonable, and when Bates said he wished he hadn't started all of it by mentioning that he and Lady Sybil had gone to the speech in the first place, he told them that Lord Grantham should be glad that he had a daughter who cared. He wished they could understand how smart and educated she was, and how strongly she believed in her causes. That was something to be admired. Before he could say anything else, Thomas came in and said, with his usual smirk and bad temper,

"Her Ladyship's ready to leave."

He immediately jumped up and said,

"I'll bring the car round," grabbing his coat and going to the garage.

But as he brought the car around and drove the Dowager Countess home, he couldn't help thinking that Lady Sybil might not be so keen on her causes now that her father had found out about them. Would she stop talking to him about politics? Would they never speak about more than the weather and driving conditions anymore? For some reason, the thought of this was difficult to bear.

The next day, Lady Sybil came to him in the garage and told him she had a meeting to go to, and that it would run late. He agreed, and said that

"It'd be no problem, milady."

"Thank you, Branson," she smiled at him and departed back towards the house. As he turned back toward the car, he hoped that they would be able to talk, and that she would not have abandoned her causes just because her father wanted her to.

Throughout the day, he thought about not only Lady Sybil, but also of Bates. He had apparently been accused of stealing wine. Carson was trying to keep it quiet, but he always seemed to underestimate how quickly gossip traveled in the house. Personally, he didn't think that Bates had stolen any wine. After all, he had heard that Thomas was behind the accusation, and he would have been quicker to believe that he was the one that was stealing the wine. It was just another way to get Bates fired, so that Thomas could become valet to Lord Grantham. It was a pretty despicable way to move up in the world, if you asked him.

He went to bed that night trying to avoid thinking about Lady Sybil. He didn't need to dream about her again. He was going to be spending a good deal of time in the car the next day, and he didn't want to be embarrassed.

The next morning dawned with the promise of good weather. He was glad, it would be easier for them to talk if there was nice weather. The beginning of the day was a blur, nothing all too notable happened, and then, suddenly it seemed, he was getting the car and bringing it around for her.

He opened the door for her, and she climbed in, smiling widely. As they set off, he wondered why she was so excited for a committee meeting, she had never been this excited before. Hadn't she said that they were horribly dull?

"You seem very happy today, milady."

"Do I? well, it's just all very exciting, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you mean, milady."

"Oh Branson-well, never mind."

He wondered what had her so preoccupied. At least she seemed happy. Most of the ride passed quietly, and when he drove into town he noticed that there seemed to be quite a commotion where she directed him. He drove through the center of town, and when she gave him no further directions he asked,

"Where to from here, milady?"

"What do you mean? We've arrived!"

"The meeting's in one of these buildings here?"

"This is the meeting. We're here for the counting of the votes."

Fear flooded through him. He turned around and looked at her incredulously. Why would she do this? She had no idea what these things were like. He had been to some that had turned into downright riots, and after he father had told her not to go… Even through his fear, he felt a little shoot of pride go through him, because she wouldn't give up her cause, for anything it seemed.

"I don't understand," he said, turning around to look at the crowd around the car, eh saw her getting out of the car, "I thought that-"

"Don't be silly, Branson," she said standing next to the car, "You don't think I'd miss my very first by-election?"

As she turned away, he held out his hand as though to stop her and said,

"I don't think his lordship would approve-"

"Let me worry about it," she brushed off the comment with such ease that It made him a little angry, but his concern for her overpowered his anger. As she walked away he called out,

"I have to park the car, don't move! Stay where you are!"

She looked back at him and said with a smile,

"Really Branson, I thought I gave the orders."

She walked away, into the growing crowd, and he drove off quickly to park the car and find her again. What had he been thinking? Sneaking into the counting of the votes? He had never dreamed she would be so devious as to trick her parents into thinking there was a committee meeting just so she could go to the counting. He panicked slightly as he tried to find a place, until, at last he alighted on one. He pulled in, hoping that she was all right, that nothing had yet gotten out of hand.

He found her in the middle of the yelling crowd, looking raptly at what was going on. He fought his way through, pushing people out of the way to get to her.

"Should we call it a day, milady?" he desperately hoped she say yes, that this had proved a little too much for her, but she scoffed and said,

"Don't be silly, this is the moment we've come for!"

Her face was shining with anticipation, but he kept looking around nervously, hoping to see if anything was getting out of hand, if there was any sign that she was in danger.

There was nothing for it, he told her that this counting was rapidly turning into a riot, but she shook her head and said that they must stay. He tried to keep himself as close to her as possible, to protect her from anything and everything that could harm her. Therefore, he didn't see Matthew Crawley come up to one side.

"Sybil! What on earth are you doing here?" he demanded, looking daggers at Tom. Tom wished he could tell him that, if he had his way, they would be halfway back to Downton already.

"I couldn't miss this," she said, looking around.

"I could," said Crawley, looking around at the crowd with evident distaste.

Tom looked behind him to see exactly what he feared. There were groups of men coming in, pushing people out of the way, and starting to cause some sort of trouble.

"I don't like the look of this, milady," he said, thinking that if she did not leave soon he would pick her up and carry her out.

He turned around and told one of the men who had the bad look about him,

"No! I'm on your side. Don't cause any trouble, you have to believe me!"

The man pushed him to the side, and another grabbed him from behind, dragging him away from Lady Sybil. _No, no_, he thought desperately, fighting to get back to her side. The man who had pushed him was confronting Mr. Crawley, and when they began to fight, Sybil was pushed, and he saw her fall, as though in slow motion, and hit her head on a table, and fall to the ground, motionless.

Be broke free from the man holding him and went straight to her side, Crawley was next to him. When he put his hand to her head, there was blood.

"Oh no," he said, as he picked her up and carried her out, "Oh please, God, no."

Because, at that moment, he fully realized, and finally accepted why he had been dreaming about her, why he so looked forward to driving her anywhere, why he thought about he all day. He was in love with Sybil Crawley.

**I'm sorry to leave you at a cliffhanger, and I usually do try to go episode by episode, but a lot happens in this episode (for Sybil and Tom, anyway) and the chapter's already rather long, so I will try to post another chapter tomorrow! I hope you enjoyed!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hopefully you've all recovered from the cliffhanger I ended with yesterday. This chapter is the continuation of season 1 episode 6. I hope you are enjoying and please keep the reviews coming!**

What Love Can Do Chapter 4

As this realization hit him, he immediately knew that he had to protect her, from anything. He immediately picked her up and carried her back to the car. He just kept thinking, _No, no please dear God, no. Take me, take me. Not her, anything but her._

"This way," said Crawley and led him down a stone hallway. They somehow got to the car from there, and Crawley helped him put Sybil in the back of the car. He got in, and took off immediately, looking over his shoulder at the prone figure on the backseat.

Fear took hold of him again. What if she was seriously injured? Well, he thought to himself, of course she's seriously injured you daft sod, look at the blood coming from her head for Heaven's sake!

Crawley told him to take them to his house in the village, and he couldn't pretend he wasn't grateful for this. He didn't particularly want to face Lord Grantham and explain to him and his family that they had gone to the counting of the votes. He knew that they would have his job for this, even if it wasn't his idea. He had allowed her to get out of the car, to be injured while he could have done something about it. He would have to go back to Ireland, and he would never see her again. This caused him such pain that he almost doubled over. He couldn't not see her again, not now that he knew how he felt about her. She was all that mattered to him anymore.

He drove too fast on the way to the village and he knew it, but Crawley didn't say anything and all he cared about was getting Sybil to safety. He dropped them both off at the Crawley house, and he was told to go and tell Lady Mary what had happened. As he drove to the big house, he tried to figure out what he was going to say, but by the time he got there, his mind was utterly blank. He went through the kitchen and asked Gwen if he could see Lady Mary, as a matter of urgency. When she came into the room, looking confused and concerned, he still had no idea what he was going to say to her.

"I've fetched a coat," said Gwen, breaking the momentary silence.

"Why? What do I need a coat for?" she asked, still looking bewildered.

"It's why I came to fetch you, milady. We've taken Lady Sybil to Crawley House in the village."

"Why, what's happened?"

He took a deep breath before saying anything. He knew he would lose his job if he took the blame, but he didn't want anyone in her family angry at her. Who knows what they would do to her if they found out she tricked them all? He would take the blow for her, and find another job.

"I took her to Ripon for the count."

Lady Mary looked at him with a mixture of shock, horror, and rage on her face, and he knew it was over for him.

"She got injured in a fight."

Fear shown in her face, and she put her hand on his arm, and then, just a quickly to her mouth.

"Take me there at once," she said, the concern plain on her face, and they both rushed out of the house towards the car.

The drive to Crawley House with Lady Mary was one of the longest in his life. He wanted with all his heart to make sure that she was alright, but was not sure how to do it without revealing that he was in love with her. He couldn't reveal that, not now, at least, not until he worked up the courage to tell her.

But how could he tell her? Why on earth would she care about the chauffeur? She was one of them, the aristocracy, exactly what he wanted to bring down. But she was more than that. She was political, beautiful, smart, and cared what others thought. She was perfect…but what was he doing! How could he explain to anyone, let alone her how he felt. It was unheard of! A lady and a chauffeur. He should probably see losing his job as a blessing. He could go back to Ireland and find some other work, and forget about her. That would be best.

When they arrived at the Crawley house, Lady Mary told him to stay in the car. He had a hard time obeying, and as the minutes oozed by, the temptation to storm in and see how she was grew.

He couldn't believe he had allowed this to happen to her. He should have never let her get out of the car. Then, they could have gone back and nothing would have happened, and he would have remained in blissful ignorance of his own feelings for at least a while longer. But now, here he was, facing the loss of his job and his own love of a woman he could never have. And that woman was lying on a couch bleeding from the head because he couldn't save her.

Then, after what seemed like hours, she came out, leaning on Crawley, and wearing Lady Mary's coat. The way she looked at Crawley made his heart ache. Of course, she would prefer him. He was rich, he was one of them. How could he have been so stupid as to let himself feel these things. As he opened the door for them and waited for Lady Mary, he remembered what his ma had said to him and his brother, when they were fighting over the affections of a girl,

"_You can't have her," Seamus had said, "I saw her first and now you just want to take her away from me!"_

"_Don't be an idiot, she likes me, and I'll have her if I want her."_

"_Why do you always have to have everything, Tom. Why can't I ever get what I want?"_

"_Boys, stop this at once. Tommy, you can't take her just because you don't want Seamus to have her. Matters of the heart are hard things to bear, and when you feel genuinely for someone, you will understand how your brother feels."_

As he opened the door for Lady Mary, he remembered how he had always thought that he would never feel "genuinely" for a girl. He had too much of a temper, and cared more for his books and his politics than for women. But when he met, really met, Sybil, he had felt something genuine, though he had not recognized it for what it was until then. So, he supposed whether or not she married Crawley or some other lord or count, he would always feel something genuine for her, even if she never knew.

He drove to Downton more slowly than usual, so as not to jostle her too much, and kept looking over his shoulder to make sure she was all right. Crawley and Lady Mary were both fussing over her, and she looked extraordinarily tired, but the cut on her head did not look too bad. He had gotten worse when he and his brother had gotten in particularly nasty fights.

He pulled up to Downton, and jumped out of the car to hold the door open for them. Crawley and Sybil went into the house, and Lady Mary was about to follow when he asked,

"She's not badly hurt, is she?"

Mary turned around, looking surprised that he would even ask and said, with the same formed tone to give nothing away as all of her kind,

"I don't think so, no."

He nodded, trying not to let the utter relief show on his face. He had said too much in front of Crawley, let his emotions get the better of him, and he was not keen to let it happen again.

"Thank God," he said, thinking even as he said it that it would arouse suspicion, but he didn't really care.

Lady Mary looked at him strangely and said,

"Better be prepared. I'm afraid Lord Grantham will hit the roof."

He knew what she was implying, that it was his idea to take her to the count, and even though he had taken the blame for her, he wanted someone to know that he had not known where they were going.

"I never would of taken her there. I may be a Socialist, but I'm not a lunatic."

"I'm not sure Papa knows the difference," she said with a small smile.

He nodded, unable to say anything else. Yet, before he could stop himself he said,

"You'll let me know how she gets on?"

He saw the surprise on her face again, coupled with suspicion, but he thought that he had already done enough damage today, why not do a little more?

She said nothing, so he added,

"Please."

She nodded and said, as though resigning herself,

"If you wish."

She went into the house, leaving him alone with all his thoughts and worries. He turned back to the car to park it. He tried to keep his hands from shaking. He wasn't sure he could face the servants' hall tonight, he wasn't hungry anyway. He didn't want to hear all the questions, all the poking and prodding, and the asking if it was his idea to take her there. He put the car in the garage, made sure everything was in place, and then went straight to his little cottage. He sat down on the bed, his head buzzing with the events of the day. He suddenly wished he could talk to his mother. She would have known what to do, about all of it. She had split up so many fights between him and his brother that she could surely sort out something as simple as this. Maybe he should write to her. But how would that letter go?

"Dear Ma,

When I took the daughter of my employer to the count today, she was injured in a fight and I realized I'm in love with her.

Love

Tom"

Maybe he shouldn't write, it would only worry her. No, it was better if he didn't. He wouldn't tell anyone. Not even Seamus. He would keep it to himself, and himself only.

But he found that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't think about anything other than the events of the night. He sat up, sitting on his bed, still in his livery, unable to do anything else. Finally, giving in, he decided to write to his brother. At least he could get it out of his system by telling someone. He picked up pen and paper and wrote his letter. He told his brother everything, from the beginning, and told him his fear of what he was feeling, and how he would skin him alive if he told anyone, including their mother. Seamus might be an annoying younger brother, but he would never betray Tom's confidence. It was nearly two in the morning when he finished the letter, and when he did, he was suddenly so tired that he almost lay down and fell asleep immediately. But he took off his livery, put on pajamas and collapsed on the bed, and was immediately asleep.

He woke up several hours later, feeling unrested. He had dreamed about her again, of course, but he had dreamed that she blamed him for the whole incident, and that Lord Grantham had come to him and fired him straight away.

He went into the servants' hall for breakfast. They all looked at him as he came in, but he sat down in his usual place and tried to avoid everyone's gaze. He hardly noticed what he was eating, and planned to escape the wretched room as soon as he could, but before he could execute his plan, Anna took him to one side and said,

"Mr. Branson, I need to talk to you."

He looked at her, sure she was going to ask him something about the previous night, but she took him by surprise and said,

"I didn't know if you knew, but Lady Sybil fought Lord Grantham to keep you here. She said she would run away of you were missing this morning. He was ready to throw you out last night."

He felt a swell of happiness rise in him. She had stood up for him! But what did that mean? Did it mean that she felt something as well? Or was he reading too much into it? How did Anna even find out? Why was she telling him this? Could she know? Was he being that obvious?

"Lady Mary thought you'd like to know," she continued, as though reading his thoughts, "She also said that Dr. Clarkson said that Lady Sybil would be just fine."

More relief surged through him so he was almost giddy. He wished he could go and see her. He wished that he could go upstairs and check on her, but he also knew that Lady Mary now had some inkling of how he felt for her sister, because she had Anna telling him this.

"Thank you," he said, unable to think of anything else to say.

He walked away, telling himself that he needed to be more careful in future. He couldn't have to whole house suspect that he was in love with Lady Sybil Crawley.


	5. Chapter 5

**I hope you are enjoying so far. We're on the season one finale! Please keep the reviews coming, they're all very helpful, thank you so much!**

What Love Can Do Chapter 5

She was coming back today. He would see her today. Mrs. Hughes had told him to go to the train station to pick them up at around eleven. He arrived there ten minutes before the train got in, just in case it was early. He waited impatiently for it to arrive. It had been so long since they had left for the season. He still wasn't really clear what that was, but he gathered that she would meet plenty of rich young men, keen on marrying her. She would dance with them, dine with them, laugh with them, maybe even talk about her politics with them. He wished that he could do that. He wished he could seduce her as they did. He wished that he wasn't a chauffeur.

Maybe one day, he told himself, it would all be different. Maybe one day, they wouldn't be so high and mighty, and he could seduce her if he liked. That day couldn't come soon enough for him. He had thought about her every minute since she went away, even when he took some time off to go home and visit his family. He had talked to Seamus about it all, and Seamus said,

"Anything's possible, Tom. Don't give up hope."

He would never give up hope. He couldn't give up hope, she meant too much to him for him to give up hope.

His musings were interrupted when the train pulled in. People poured out, and he looked for her in the milling crowd. There she was. Walking toward him, laughing with Lady Edith.

"Ah, hello Branson," said Lord Grantham, who was in front of her.

"Hello, milord," he said, tearing his eyes away from her, "Welcome home."

"It's good to be back, Branson, thank you," he smiled as he climbed into the car. Lady Grantham and Lady Edith both smiled at him and said,

"Thank you, Branson."

Then she was there, right in front of him. It was as though he had not breathed properly since she had left. She was so beautiful, how could he have forgotten? She smiled at him as he helped her into the car and said,

"Thank you Branson. It's good to see you."

"And you, milady," he tried to hide the blush creeping up his neck as he said this.

_Stop it, Tom_, he told himself, _you're acting like a silly schoolgirl_.

As they set off, he had to stop himself from glancing back at her every few seconds, just to make sure she was still there. From what he gathered, she had had a very successful season, and that men were fawning all over her.

He gripped the steering wheel so as not to say what he thought of this. He should have expected this, he had known it was coming. Every man in England should be lined up to try and win her favor. She was-well she was Lady Sybil Crawley.

He tried not to listen to anything else, but always tuned in whenever she said anything. She only had nice things to say about where she went and the people she met, which was not surprising, she didn't have a mean bone in her body.

When they arrived at Downton, he helped her out of the car, and she smiled at him (he felt himself blushing again), and he watched her go into the house, and then, when he saw Carson watching him, hastily went to park the car in the garage.

He had to stop being so conspicuous. He had tried not to be obvious, tried not to let anyone know, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't hide his feelings. He had to hide them from her, but in general, he was just no good at it.

He tried to concentrate on other things. He cleaned the garage, worked on the motors, did anything he could to get his mind off of her. It was all that he could not go seek her out, to tell her that he loved her. He knew he couldn't, and he knew that he had to keep himself occupied.

He was only able to drive her to Ripon once in the weeks that followed her return. He took advantage of this drive, trying to figure out if she had been fond of any of the men she met, especially Crawley. He still remembered the way she had looked at him when she had been injured at the count, and though there was talk all over the house that Crawley and Lady Mary were to be engaged, he couldn't get that look out of his mind. He had become almost convinced that she was in love with him, and that was too much for him to bear. So, he asked her, as he was driving,

"How Mr. Matthew Crawley getting along?"

She looked up at him, clearly puzzled by his question.

"Fine, I daresay. My sister hasn't given him and answer to the proposal, so I would assume that he was on pins and needles."

He almost breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't sound jealous, or angry about the proposal, she didn't even sound all that interested. That was one less thing he had to worry about in regards to her.

"I'm so glad to have someone to talk to about politics again, Branson," she said, "I had no one to talk to in London, and I often found myself wishing for you company."

He felt his heart leap at this. How he wished he could turn around and tell her that he had wished for her company every minute while she was gone.

"Thank you milady, I've missed our talks as well."

"Gwen told me you visited Ireland while we were in London. How was it?"

"Alright, milady. It was good to see my family. They all wanted to know everything that had happened since I had been there."

"Didn't you write them?"

"Oh yes, but they all said that it would be better if I told them everything in person."

"I bet you were very tired by the time you got back, having told them everything that you'd done since you arrived at Downton," she said, laughing.

_Not everything, milady, not everything_, he thought, laughing with her.

Other than this drive, nothing of note really happened in the weeks after their return. He merely drove the Dowager Countess to and from the house, and Lady Grantham and Edith went to Ripon several times, but mostly, he was left to his own devices, which he had realized was very dangerous, as he only thought about Sybil when left to his own devices.

He did pay attention to the goings on in the world. Of course, he was sure that it would come to war. But he didn't think about the impending war as much as he thought that he would. He thought about her more and more. She even replaced his obsession with politics.

He heard from Gwen that Sybil had set her up with another job interview. This one was from the telephone man, and they all hoped that he'd give her the job. She had worked so hard, and she deserved to be more than a housemaid. She deserved to be a secretary. They all waited anxiously for some sort of sign that he had given her the job, but none came. Yet Gwen said that, after all this, she had learned to be patient, and he respected that. He also respected that Sybil would stick out her neck so many times to help Gwen achieve her dream of being a secretary.

Then, Lady Grantham lost the baby. He couldn't deny he was sad about it, even if she was one of their kind. But what worried him most was Sybil. He wanted to see her, to make sure she was all right, but all he could do was drive the doctor back and forth. He felt so useless to her. He wanted to help her, to tell her it was all right, but he couldn't. He couldn't because of his birth and, at the moment he hated that fact more than anything.

He went into the servant's hall, hands in his pockets, looking around at the dismal scene. Carson looked up at him and said,

"I think you'd better dine with us, Mr. Branson, we can't know if you might be needed later," he had never seen Carson look so sad.

"Well I'm to go for the doctor at ten," he said, he sat down, unable to say anything else. Thomas came in behind him, he looked smugly around at them all, clearly taking pleasure in seeing them all in this state.

"What a long faced lot," he said, looking disdainful.

"Kindly show some respect," snapped Carson, looking with utter dislike at the footman.

"Come on, Mr. Carson, she'll get over it, they're no bigger than a hamster at that stage."

He thought that he could have punched Thomas, and balled his fists in his lap, trying desperately to keep his temper in check. He could feel the tension in the room growing with every word.

"Will you shut up," said Bates, looking with hatred at Thomas.

"I agree, what is the matter with you, Thomas," Mrs. Hughes put in, anger in every syllable.

He could feel that this was going to turn into a fight. Every time there was a family argument at home, he could feel the same sort of tension building, usually between he and his brother.

"I don't know, I suppose all this makes me feel claustrophobic," said Thomas.

There was no remorse in him, no sadness, no feeling at all. How could you go through your life feeling nothing? He admitted that he wasn't Lady Grantham's biggest fan, but he certainly didn't want anything of this nature to happen to her. A cousin of his had lost a baby once, and it was one of the most terrible things to ever happen in his family.

"I mean I'm sorry, course I am," he continued, his tone completely contrary to his words, "But why must we live through them? They're just our employers, they're not out flesh and blood."

Normally, he might have agreed with Thomas, if it was not the loss of a life, and if he didn't think about Lady Sybil. She might not be his flesh and blood, but she was more important than anything, whatever a rat like Thomas might say.

"Thomas, don't be so unkind," said Daisy. He was pleased that she said this, she used to be such a champion for Thomas.

"Is there nothing left on earth that you respect?" said William. Everyone in the room seemed surprised that William said anything, he had such a mild temper.

"Now look at him," said Thomas, looking around the room spitefully, "Blimey, he carries on like this for the unborn baby of a woman who scarcely knows his name, no wonder he fell to pieces when his old mum snuffed it."

Tom knew that he had gone too far. There was a second's silence, then William got up, grabbed Thomas by the shoulders, and punched him in the face. He heard Carson yell, "William!" and a few of the women gasp, but he honestly couldn't blame him. No man on earth could talk about his mother and not think to get something for it. The two scuffled on the ground, throwing punches. Carson was still yelling for them to stop, but no one moved to separate them, they all seemed too shocked to do anything. Then, without waiting, he grabbed William and pulled him back. He had been witness to enough fights to know that it couldn't be allowed to continue, even though he truly wanted to assist William in beating Thomas black and blue. He pulled him back and said, "Calm down!" Thomas got up and left the room, and he released William, and laughed slightly at the whole situation. He stood by William and said, to the room in general,

"He had that coming."

They all sat down again, not really knowing what to do after that display. After a while, he decided he could not stand the overpowering atmosphere of gloom and left the servant's hall and went back to his cottage. He sat there for a while thinking about his mother. He would have done what William did for her. He would have done the same for Sybil.

He lay down on his bed and thought how Sybil was feeling. He wished, again, that he could see her and say some words of comfort to her. He drifted off to sleep, contemplating what he would say to her, if he got to go upstairs and talk to her, and her alone.

The next day was the garden party, and he was downstairs in the kitchen when the phone rang. He walked in just as Mrs. Patmore said,

"My lord, listen to that. It's like the cry of a banshee."

"Mr. Carson's phone is ringing," he said, rather unnecessarily. No one said anything so he continued,

"Well isn't anybody going to answer it?"

"I wouldn't touch that thing with a ten-foot pole," said Mrs. Patmore, looking significantly at Mrs. Bird.

"Well, I will then," he said, and he walked into Mr. Carson's office. He picked up the phone and waited for the other person to speak first.

"Is this Mr. Carson?"

"No, Mr. Carson's busy," he said loudly and clearly, "But can I take a message?"

"Yes, this is Mr. Brumich, I would just like to tell you that Ms. Gwen Dawson got the job with me. She's to report to me to see when she starts."

Joy flooded through him and he said,

"Thank you, sir, I'll tell her straight away."

He sprinted out of the kitchen, and through to the garden party, looking for Sybil. She was the instrumental one in getting Gwen the job, he thought she should be the one to tell her the news. He found her talking to some friends and Lady Edith. He approached her, somewhat nervously, feeling distinctly out of his element. He tapped her on the shoulder and said, unable to hide his smile,

"I've got news, milady."

He leaned in so that he could smell her perfume of lavender and roses, and whispered in her ear,

"Gwen got the job."

She gasped, smiling widely, and he felt inwardly proud that he could make her smile so. She excused herself hastily and they both left to find Gwen immediately. They ran to the servant's tent, where Gwen was coming out with a tray and Sybil said, without waiting,

"Mr. Brumich has just wrung, you've done it Gwen, you've got the job!"

She gasped looking shocked and joyful, and immediately thrust the tray at another maid saying, "Take it! Take it!" Then they all hugged. He could feel Sybil pressing into him, smell her perfume, hear her laughter, and it was almost too much for him. He almost told her, then and there, how he felt about her, but, suddenly, they heard Mrs. Hughes say, "Something to celebrate?" and they broke apart.

Gwen smiled widely and said,

"I got the job, Mrs. Hughes, I'm a secretary!"

"I'm very happy for you, Gwen, and we'll celebrate after we finish today's work," she said severely.

"Of course Mrs. Hughes," said Gwen, and she headed back into the tent. Without planning it, and without worrying about the consequences, he took Sybil's hand. Her hand was warm, and if filled him with indescribable happiness to have it pressed against his. He looked at her and said, quietly,

"I don't suppose-"

"Lady Sybil," cut in Mrs. Hughes, he noticed that it took Sybil a second to look away from him, he took it as a good sign "Her Ladyship was asking after you."

She said nothing, but looked at him again before turning and walking away. He watched her go, feeling the usual stab of regret whenever she left him. He looked down and smiled at what had just happened, and was about to walk away when Mrs. Hughes said,

"Be careful, my lad. Or you'll end up with no job and a broken heart."

"What do you mean?" he said automatically, but of course he knew. She merely gave him a look and then walked away. Even though he was only going to ask Sybil if perhaps she could find _him_ a job as a secretary, if only to make her laugh, he knew that it had been a foolish thing to do in front of Mrs. Hughes.

As he walked through the garden party, reminding himself not to try and talk to Sybil, he thought of how obvious he must have been. Now he was sure that at least Carson, Mrs. Hughes, Lady Mary, Gwen, and Anna all knew about his feelings for Lady Sybil. He supposed that Mrs. Hughes was right, but after today's victory, he wasn't about to give up on her, even if she was too far above him. He knew that he had no chance, that he should just give up, but he couldn't. He would take her rejection over just giving up, because at least if he was rejected he would know that he tried. He might just be able to live with himself if he knew that he had tried.

He saw her, next to her sister, talking and laughing to some pompous looking redheaded boy. He was one of them. He clearly had plenty of money. He felt another blow to his already weather-beaten heart. Mrs. Hughes was right, he should give up. But even as he saw her laughing with that man, he still knew he wouldn't do it, not if there was the tiniest hope he might win her over. Until she walked down the aisle to another man, he would fight for her.

Suddenly, Lord Grantham ran out and said that they were, as everyone had known would happen, at war with Germany. He looked at Sybil, to see only shock on her face. He had known he had always known that war was imminent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Here we are again. I really hope you're enjoying the story, and please keep the reviews coming!**

What Love Can Do Chapter 6

Since the war had started, the house had changed a great deal. As time went by, he became more and more worried that he would be called out to the front. He knew he would never fight for the British army, but he wondered if he were brave enough to stand up to them. He had spent most of his time trying to teach Lady Edith to drive. She was learning, but was still having some trouble. He tried with all his might to be patient, but it wasn't always easy.

Sybil did not leave to go to town by herself nearly as much as he would have liked. He had heard Lady Grantham say that she was sad because many of the boys she knew were dying in the war. He tried to pretend that he was sad too, but part of him felt that the war was lessening his competition. He knew this was a terrible thing to think about, but he couldn't help himself, not when he was in love with her as ever.

All that the house talked about was the war. He knew that the house was holding a concert in benefit of the soldiers. They were trying to simultaneously raise spirits and money for the hospital.

They all had to worry about the new housemaid, Ethel, as well. She was headstrong, and was so confident in all her "dreams" that she'd made an enemy of many of the staff, even Mrs. Patmore, when she asked if she could have some of the upstairs' crepe suzette. He chuckled at the look on Mrs. Patmore's face when she asked this, knowing that Ethel had no idea what she was getting into.

She even made an enemy of O'Brian, by telling her that "it was hard to change at her age." He knew from experience that there was little less dangerous at Downton than having O'Brian as an enemy.

That day, he had to go pick up Lady Mary from the station, but he also picked up Bates. No one had known when he was coming back from London, and he knew that Anna at least would be happy to have him back at Downton. Indeed, she was waiting for him by the door when she arrived.

At the concert that night, he saw Crawley arrive with an unfamiliar young woman. He supposed that he had gotten engaged, and couldn't help but wonder what Lady Mary thought about this. Though she had turned him down, he got the impression that she was still in love with him. He was at least glad that there seemed to be no interest between Sybil and Crawley.

During the concert, he leaned up against the wall, a little outside the main hall, feeling to ill at ease to sit down. He wanted to keep Sybil in his sights. He could hardly concentrate on the music, because she looked so beautiful. But then, two women got up, and started handing out the white feathers of cowardice. Lord Grantham shouted at them to leave, but before they did, they handed him one, he smiled at them and said,

"I'm in a uniform."

"Wrong kind," one said, and they departed with their noses in the air. He looked down at the feather that they had given him and smiled at their calling him a coward. He wasn't about to fight for the British army, not when that same army was used to keep Ireland at bay.

After the concert, and after dinner he was in the servant's hall when O'Brian came in and told Ethel that Lady Grantham wanted to thank her for all her hard work. Ethel looked thrilled and immediately went upstairs. The whole room broke out into laughter, and he knew that the war against Ethel had begun. He felt sort of bad for her, she clearly knew what she wanted in life, but at the same time she was so annoying about it that it was funny to see her tricked by O'Brian. At breakfast the next morning, O'Brian was told off by Carson. Then, the subject turned to Sybil,

"Did I see Lady Sybil in the kitchen yesterday?" said Carson, looking at Mrs. Patmore. He stiffened, listening to every word spoken at the end of the table.

"She wants to learn some cooking," said Mrs. Patmore, rather vaguely.

"She says she's going to train to be a nurse, so she needs to know how to cook and clean and everything," said Daisy.

"Has she told her Ladyship about this?" said Carson, looking concerned.

"She said it's supposed to be a surprise."

"Mr. Carson, it speaks well of Lady Sybil that she wants to help the wounded. Let's not give her away," said Mrs. Hughes, clearly noticing the disapproving look on Carson's face.

"She should learn how to cook and scrub, she may need it one day, when the war's over," piped up Ethel. He felt his stomach tighten. What did Ethel mean by that?

"Things are changing," she continued, "For her lot and us. And when they do I mean to make the most of it."

He couldn't help but agree with Ethel, after all, it was these changes that gave him hope that he could, one day be with her, with Sybil.

Mrs. Patmore merely laughed, and Ethel put down her cup and said,

"I take it they ate all the pancakes last night, then?" she said, looking angry.

"They did," said Mrs. Patmore, and she headed back towards the kitchen. He smiled to himself, because he thought he had seen a plate of uneaten pancakes in the kitchen this morning.

He passed by the kitchen later in the day, and saw Sybil at work at the stove. He paused to watch her, to see how she was getting along. Clearly, even though she was one of the ladies of the house, Mrs. Patmore was not going to go easy on her. He smiled as he went into the servant's hall, and kept reminding himself not to get up and check on her every few minutes.

A few days later, he was supposed to take Sybil to York for her nurse's training course. She looked so happy and yet sad when they drove away, and she spoke of how eager she was to be free and independent. It was this that made him decide that now was the time. He would lay it all on the line and tell her how he felt about her. It was his only chance.

When they arrived at the hospital, she looked around with interest. There were injured soldiers working in the yard. It certainly would be in an awakening for her. But he knew that she could do it. She was the strongest person that he knew. The hard part for him was going to be not seeing her for two months. He wished he could write her.

He set down her bags, and she turned to him and said,

"It'll be hard to let you go, my last link with home."

Now was his chance.

"Not as hard as it is for me," he said, searching her face for some reaction.

"Branson…" she said, he knew he had to convince her, some way.

"I know I shouldn't say it, but I can't keep it in any longer."

"I wish you would," she said, and this comment stung him, but he would not be stopped now.

"I've told myself and told myself you're too far above me. But things are changing. When the war is over, the world won't be the same place as it was when it started. And I'll make something of myself, I promise," he said, a hint of desperation coming into his voice.

"I know you will," she said.

"Then bet on me," he said, " and if your family casts you off, it won't be forever. They'll come around. And until they do I promise to devote every waking minute to you happiness."

He waited, hoping against hope that she would say she returned the feelings. Instead, she said something that made him feel as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach.

"I'm terribly flattered," she said, looking embarrassed.

"Don't say that," he said, trying not to look too angry.

"Why not?" she was still not looking at him.

"Because 'flattered' is a word posh people use when they're getting ready to say no," he said, looking intently at her.

She looked up at him, and smiled,

"That sounds more like you."

"Please don't make fun of me," he said, still doing his best to keep his temper in check, "It's cost me all I've got to say these things."

She again said nothing, and he made his decision. He would have to leave anyway once she'd told her family what he had said, he might as well say goodbye now. He nodded at her, even though she wasn't looking at him, and said,

"Right. I'll go, I'll hand in my notice and I won't be there when you get back."

"No, don't do that," she said, looking at him at last. Though this was encouraging that she didn't want him to go, he knew he couldn't stay.

"I must. They won't let me stay when they've heard what I said."

"They won't hear," she looked at him with an almost gentle expression on her face, enough to melt any resolve he had about leaving, "Not from me."

He looked at her, shocked. He had been so sure that she would run to her family. What did that mean? Was she in love with him and just unable to say?

She looked at him for another moment, and then picked up her bags and said,

"Well, goodbye then, and wish me luck!" and she walked away. He watched her go, knowing that he wouldn't be able to see her for another two months. When she had rounded the corner, he turned back and went to the car.

Never before had he been so grateful for the long ride back to Downton. It gave him time to mull it all over, to clear his head. He thought of all she had said to him, and decided that, now that she knew how he felt, she would be able to process it and, perhaps, begin to feel something in return. He had vowed to never give up on her, and this vow would still hold. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest, even though it had not gone as he had planned. At least she knew, even if she said she felt nothing, and tried to push him away.

As he arrived back at Downton, he forced himself to behave as if everything were normal. He walked into the servant's hall, hoping not to look too preoccupied.

"Ah, Mr. Branson," said Mrs. Hughes, stopping him on his way to sit down, "I trust Lady Sybil arrived all right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," he said, hoping that the pain he felt at the mention of her name didn't show on his face, "I reckon it'll be a great awakening for her, very different from life here."

"I daresay so," she said, and walked back towards her sitting room.

He sat down in a chair at the table, and pulled out the paper he had been saving to read. He found that none of it captured his attention very well; all he could see was her face and hear her words in his head.

At dinner that night, Carson asked if he had seen Lady Sybil off well. The whole table looked around at him, all their faces alight with interest, as Sybil was the first daughter of the house to leave. He said that he had, and that she had seemed very happy with her newfound freedom. He forced himself not to add that she had never looked more beautiful than when she was so seemingly happy.

When he had found out that she wanted to become a nurse, he remembered how she wanted to shock the family with her harem pants. He remembered the look on her face when she had come into dinner with them on. He remembered how he had felt, that twinge of a feeling that he hadn't recognized at the time. He sometimes still wished he could be in ignorance of his feelings for her. It would have been easier for everyone. He wouldn't have had to worry her, or make members of the house suspicious. He would still only care about his politics, and freedom for Ireland. But, as his mother said, "Love has a strange way of striking when it is either massively inconvenient or when it is least expected."

In his case, he felt that love had struck him at both times. Yet, for some reason, he felt that he wouldn't have traded it for the world.


	7. Chapter 7

**I thank you so much for all the help you've all been for me! Really, your reviews are fantastic and please keep them coming!**

What Love Can Do Chapter 7

Two months came and went, two hopelessly dreary months. He did nothing of interest, drove no one who really mattered and thought about her every second of every day. He wondered if she was thinking about him, if she was pondering his final words to her. He hoped she was. Yet he also hoped that she was enjoying becoming a nurse, because her happiness was all that mattered to him.

He had mixed feelings the day he went to pick her up from York. Part of him yearned to see her and another part dreaded their meeting. What would he say to her? He didn't want to broach the subject of his love for her if she didn't want to talk about it, but it was no use pretending that nothing had changed between them. Would she want to talk to him at all? Maybe he should ask her about her nursing course. Yes, that seemed like a good idea. He would ask her about her nursing, therefore they would start of by talking about a subject that was neutral.

He was nervous as he drove to York. As he pulled up to the hospital, he saw several women, all in nurses garb, saying goodbye to each other. He looked around, looking for her, and there she was, coming toward him and smiling widely. She was wearing the customary nurse's habit, and though it covered most of her up, he thought that it suited her. She climbed into the car and said,

"Hello, Branson, it's so good to see you again!"

"And, you milady."

They set off. He tried to stage their conversation so that he didn't talk to her too soon, but didn't wait until it was too late to start a reasonable conversation.

"How was it, milady?"

"Oh, it was wonderful. I learned so much, and can't wait to put it all into practice at the hospital back home. What's been happening while I was away?"

"Oh, this and that, milady. Nothing too exciting. Mostly the house is talking about the war, like all houses, I suppose," he hoped he wasn't going too far, he wanted to keep the conversation light.

"Of course, it's what we're all here for isn't it, to help the war effort."

"I suppose so, milady."

They continued in this way, talking of nothing of consequence. When the house came into view, she looked delighted, and immediately got out of the car and ran to greet her mother. He did not linger there, much as he wanted to keep talking to her, but went and parked the car in the garage, trying to review all that they had said. He thought, overall, it had gone well. At least they hadn't spoken of his feelings for her.

He saw more of her than usual when she returned. She often needed to be driven to the hospital, but often didn't want to leave. Lady Grantham sometimes sent him to collect her, saying that she needed to come home some of the time. Their conversations continued to be light, though they talked more about politics than when she had first arrived. Many times, she did not return to the house for days at a time, and these days were long and dull for him, because he only wanted to see her.

Lady Edith told him that she had taken a job on a farm to drive a tractor. He was rather proud of her, because she drove well, and he was the one that taught her.

One of those days, he had to go pick up Sir Richard Carlisle and Lady Rosamund from the station. He was an arrogant looking man, who seemed to treat the man he had brought with him with disdain and had the unmistakable look of a man who had made his money and was determined never to let it go. He was obviously not one to talk to the chauffeur driving him around, and the car ride back to Downton was quiet.

When he pulled up to the house, Lady Mary was waiting for her guest along with Lady Grantham. She didn't look too terribly pleased to see him, but they were all so good at hiding their emotions he sometimes couldn't tell when they were pleased and when they weren't. He was just about to go park the car, when Lady Grantham came out with a familiar request,

"Branson, when you've finished unloading, will you run down to the hospital and remind Lady Sybil we expect her here for dinner. And tell her I mean it. Really. They're working her like a pack horse in a mine."

He smiled slightly at Sybil's mother's exasperation with her daughter. At least today would not be a total waste, he was going to get to see her. As she turned away, he said,

"I think she enjoys it, though."

She turned around and looked shocked and almost angry. He was half afraid he was going to be told off, when she said,

"Please tell her to be home in time to change."

He looked down and nodded, and immediately got in the car to tell her the message, and to get away from the piercing stare of Lady Grantham.

_You always have to be the fool, don't you, Tom_, he thought to himself, as he drove to the hospital. Now he had tipped off Lady Grantham to his feelings for Sybil. He shouldn't have spoken out of turn. It wasn't accepted. He had to be more careful.

He walked into the hospital, smelling the familiar smell of disinfectant and chemicals. He asked another nurse where he might find her, and she led him through some double doors, where he saw her treating several wounded soldiers. He came up to her and said,

"Milady? Lady Grantham would like me to tell you that I'm to take you back to Downton. You're to have dinner with them this evening."

"I can't possibly come, really Mama is incorrigible," she looked outraged. Mrs. Crawley looked up and said, reproachfully,

"Really, it's not poor Branson's fault."

"What is the point of Mama's soirees, really, what are they for?"

"Well, I'm going up for dinner tonight, and I'm glad, is that wrong?" said Mrs. Crawley, smiling gently at Sybil, who was so intense about her work. She said nothing, but merely looked defeated. As he looked at her, Thomas walked by, looking as sullen as ever, and Mrs. Crawley said,

"Thomas, you can cover for Nurse Crawley, can't you?"

"I can," he said, shortly, and went on his way. He followed him and said,

"So, you're back then? Safe and sound?" he had his suspicions that Thomas had merely gotten his hand shot so he wouldn't have to be at the front anymore. Thomas wouldn't have handled battle very well, and if he knew Thomas, he would have done anything that he could to get out of it. Thomas didn't look up, but he said,

"That's not how I'd put it with my hand the way it is. But yes, Major Clarkson's found me a place, and I'm grateful."

He knew that O'Brian had had a hand in securing him at the hospital at Downton, but he merely looked at Thomas, with half a smile and said nothing. Sybil came up and handed Thomas a small glass,

"Will you give Lieutenant Courtney his pills?" she said, still looking angry, though he was not sure that this was because of having to go to dinner or having to be around Thomas.

"Course I can, be glad to," he said, looking rather disrespectful. He could have punched him for talking and looking at Sybil that way.

He did manage to get Sybil and Mrs. Crawley away in time for them to change, but Sybil still didn't look happy. He knew she wanted to still be at the hospital, but he was glad that he had been able to see her.

The dinner did not, apparently go smoothly. He was sitting in the servant's hall, reading the paper when Lady Edith and Lady Grantham came in, saying that they needed him to fetch Dr. Clarkson at once. Apparently Carson had become ill, and he needed a doctor immediately. He went quickly to go and get him, hoping that Sybil would take care of Carson while he was gone. Even though he was strict, he liked Carson and didn't want anything to happen to him.

About an hour later, they were all told that he would be all right. They all seemed relieved. Lang seemed to be to blame for it all, but he liked Lang, and he knew that he had shell shock. Shell shock was a nasty business, and he didn't blame Lang for being the way he was.

In the weeks following the dinner, he heard that Sybil was now bent on the idea of turning Downton into a convalescent home for wounded soldiers. Though there was talk that Lord and Lady Grantham would never agree but, if he knew Sybil, he knew she would not rest until she got what she wanted.

He went to the hospital to give her the basket of food that Mrs. Patmore had made for her, on her ladyship's request one day. It was a day that new soldiers were coming in, and the hospital was full to bursting. He saw her, and tried to give her the food, but he knew that she was too busy and too proud to take it. Indeed she told him that she was too busy, and there was nothing he could do to make her take it.

He looked around at all the wounded men, blind, without limbs, covered in bandages, and he wondered what exactly they were fighting for. Why would they do this to themselves when they were fighting for an army that did the same thing that the "enemy" did to the Irish?

He looked at Sybil and asked,

"Is it what you thought it would be?"

She looked around her and said,

"No. its more savage than I could have imagined, but I feel useful for the first time in my life and that must be a good thing," she said, bending over a man on a bed.

"So you wouldn't go back? To you life before the war?" he asked, hoping she would maybe give him a sign, any sign that she was willing to change.

"No, I could never go back to that again."

He looked at her, and his admiration for her grew and grew. He hoped that this meant that she would one day be willing to change her life for him. He would never give up on her. Never.

When William came back from training, he hoped that he would not be one of the ones that Sybil treated at the hospital. He liked William, and he wanted him, and all the others that he knew to come home in one piece. Even Crawley. He respected him, especially now that he knew he was not after her affections. He hoped that he was not one of the ones that she had to treat either. Maybe he would be just brave enough to stand up to the British army, after today.


	8. Chapter 8

**As we go on, I still cannot thank you all enough for your reviews and everything! Please keep them coming! **

What Love Can Do Chapter 8

As the house was turned into a convalescent home, he helped to set up the beds and in any other way he could. The biggest benefit to this was that he was able to see Sybil almost every day, as she was helping to set it all up as well. He could tell that Lady Grantham didn't appreciate Mrs. Crawley's plans for the house, and he laughed inwardly at how oblivious Mrs. Crawley seemed to be about the whole thing and Lady Grantham's feelings about it.

Sybil expressed the wish that the home could be for all wounded men, not just officers. He couldn't help but feel that the house would be to absolute capacity if they had anything more than officers, though he was glad that they were doing something to help. Though he didn't appreciate the army, he had nothing against the men that served in it, and he felt that they deserved to have all the benefits they needed once they were shipped off to slaughter at the front and after they came back from it.

As he was setting up the beds, he could not stop himself from watching Sybil as she supervised. Even in a nurse's habit she was breathtakingly beautiful. As the Dowager Countess expressed her surprise at mixing ranks among the soldiers in the house, Sybil said that people could mix ranks if they wanted to. He took this as a good sign, at least she supported mixing classes, otherwise he would have no chance with her.

After luncheon, Carson handed him an envelope. He wasn't expecting any letters, he had just written home a few days before, and he didn't expect to have an answer back so soon. He opened it, and he realized that he had finally been called. Now was his chance to show that damned army what he thought about them. He wasn't going to sit by and be killed at the front if he had anything to say about it. He was ready to go to prison for his beliefs, he had no problem with that, but he knew that he would never see Sybil again, and this cause him indescribable pain. But he had no choice. It was go to prison or die at the front, and he knew which one he would take.

Several days later, he was washing the car when Sybil came up to him, holding some blankets.

"Carson's told Papa you've been called up," it was encouraging how concerned he looked, but he was too angry about it all to care at this moment.

"There's no need to look so serious."

"You'd think me rather heartless if I didn't."

"I'm not going to fight," he said, simply.

"You have to," she said, looking confused.

"I will not. I'm going to be a conscientious objector," he said, matter-of-factly.

"They'll put you in prison!"

He looked at her, hoping this meant that she was concerned for him and said he rather be in prison than dead.

"When will you tell them?" she asked, quietly.

"In my own good time."

"I don't understand."

"I'll go to the medical, I'll report for duty, I'll go on parade, I'll march out front and shout it loud and clear. And if that doesn't make the newspapers, then I'm a monkey's uncle."

He couldn't stop himself from becoming excited. This was what he had always wanted to do, to become and rebel and fight for his causes, no matter what the cost. He wanted to get attention, to show the world that he was not afraid.

"But you'll have a record for the rest of your life," she said, as though he didn't understand the consequences of what he was doing. Of course he understood! He was the one who had spurred her interest in politics, he knew what he was doing! How could she'd think he'd care about that?

"At least I'll have a life," he said, rather shortly. He walked away from her, too angry to say anything more. It took it all he had not to go back and beg for her forgiveness. He knew that he had to stick to it on this one. He wanted a life. He would be willing to sacrifice a married life with her, if he could tell the world would how he felt. He would never forget her, but he had to fight for what he believed in.

A few days later, he was telling everyone the news from Russia, and when Carson came in, he wanted to hear it as well.

"Kerensky's been made Prime Minister," he said, trying not to sound too excited, "But he won't go far enough for me. Lenin demands with the bourgeoisie along with the Czar, he wants a people's revolution, that's what I'm waiting for. Won't be long now."

"And what's happened to the Czar?" asked Carson, ladling soup into bowls and passing them around.

"Imprisoned," he said, matter-of-factly, "In the Alexander Palace, with all his family."

"Oh, what a dreadful thing," said Mrs. Patmore.

"They won't hurt them," he said, he was confident in this, "Why would they?"

"To make an example?" said Anna, looking at him.

"Give them some credit," he said, almost angrily, "This is a new dawn. A new age of government. No one wants to start it with the murder of a bunch of young girls."

"You don't know that," said Lang, "No one knows who'll get killed when these things start. Look at her nephew," he gestured at Mrs. Patmore, "Shot for cowardice. Who would've guessed that when he was saying hello to the neighbors, or kissing his mother goodnight."

Mrs. Patmore looked crushed with grief, and ran out of the room. Everyone looked down at the table, not knowing what to say. None of them had known that _that_ had been the fate of Mrs. Patmore's nephew, he had assumed that he had been killed.

"I'm sorry," said Lang, looking ashamed, "I never thought-"

"You should think, Mr. Lang," said Mrs. Hughes, standing up, "You're not the only member of the walking wounded in this house."

She left, clearly to go find Mrs. Patmore. They all stared at him. Then, after a second, Carson continued passing bowls of soup, and dinner continued.

After this rather subdued dinner, he went back to his cottage. He wondered how Sybil would feel if he was put in prison or shot for disloyalty. Would she even care?

Within the next few days, the final preparations were made for the house to become a convalescent home, and the place was in uproar. They were all so busy that he had pitched in to try and get everything done. He wondered how Sybil was feeling, as she had been so instrumental in making Downton a convalescent home. He supposed he would feel nervous, but Sybil had become so strong since he had first met her.

When they arrived, most of the downstairs staff was rushing around trying to get all the usual chores done. He had nowhere to go, so he stayed downstairs and out of the way. He read the paper and listened to Mrs. Patmore tell off Daisy again and again. He smiled to himself, at least the war hadn't changed everything.

Several days later, he reported for his medical examination. He was led almost immediately into a traditional doctor's office, and was told by the nurse to wait for the doctor. When he arrived, he was weighed, and then told to take off his shirt to be tested for breathing and heartbeat. He did as he was bidden, thinking that he was only a few steps away from wreaking havoc on the British army. The thought filled him with pleasure.

"Breath in," said the doctor, placing his stethoscope over his heart. He did so. They repeated the process several times until the doctor said, finally,

"And out," he took his stethoscope away and turned away from him, continuing, "I'm surprised they didn't get you before now."

"Some people have all the luck, sir" he said, looking at the doctor. The doctor didn't say anything except,

"You can get dressed," he spoke with a tone that said the conversation was over. He smirked slightly as he buttoned up his shirt, clearly the doctor didn't like his tone. But then, hardly anyone ever liked his tone. He turned the conversation to the army,

"Shall I report for duty in Richmond?"

"You'll be told what to do," said the doctor, barely sparing him a glance as he walked by.

He was ready to be gone. Maybe, when he was in prison, he'd be able to think better about his feelings for Sybil. He could return to Ireland and marry a nice girl who didn't care about his politics or anything else that he did.

But it was not smooth sailing for him. A few weeks after his initial examination, he received word that he could not be in service because he had a heart murmur.

_What?_, he thought, outraged, _A bloody heart murmur? They have got to be kidding._

But it appeared that they weren't, and with that letter they stopped all his plans for upsetting the British army and getting away from Sybil. He loved her more than anything, but had come to accept that she would never love him in return, not when she had a comfortable life at Downton and men lining to marry her.

The day he received the letter, he found himself in front of the house, polishing the car before Lord Grantham came out to go to Ripon. He was still angry, and therefore was none too pleased to see Sybil, even though, past his rage, he felt his heart jump at the sight of her. Of course, she would be pleased her chauffeur wasn't going to die or go to prison, so her parents didn't have to find a new one, he thought, bitterly.

"Are you waiting for Papa, do you want me to go and find him?" she asked, smiling at him. He had to tell someone, and she was the only one he could tell that would remotely care, even if it was for reasons he didn't want.

"They turned me down," he said, angrily, slamming the car door, "The army."

"Why?" she said, looking at him with surprise.

"Apparently I have a heart murmur. Or, to be more precise, a mitrovalve prolapse, is causing a pansestellic murmur," he read from the rejection. They were looking at each other from across the car, and despite his anger, he still admired how beautiful she was. She shook her head slightly and said,

"I don't know what to say. Is it dangerous?"

He supposed he should have been pleased that she cared enough for his well-being to ask this, but he was too angry to care.

"Only if you're planning to humiliate the British army," he threw down the envelope as he said this, looking at it angrily. This anger made him feel reckless, and even though he knew he shouldn't take his anger out on her, he couldn't help himself,

"I suppose you're glad," he said, looking at her from across the car.

"You're not going to be killed and you're not going to go to prison. Of course I'm glad!" she said, with a small laugh. Normally her laugh was too infectious for him not to laugh, but his rage overpowered all else, even his love for her.

"Don't count your chickens," he said, looking at her intently, "If I don't get them one way, I'll get them another."

This caused the smile to slide off her face, she looked at him, and her face changed from fear to anger, and she said,

"Why do you have to be so angry all the time? I know we weren't exactly out our best in Ireland, but-"

She had touched a nerve, and he interrupted her,

"Not at your best?" he said, disbelievingly, he rounded the car to face her, more anger bubbling up inside him, "Not at your best?" he repeated not caring about the consequences of what he said to her, personal or otherwise, "I lost a cousin in the Easter Rising last year."

"You never said," she said, looking at him sadly.

"Well I'm saying it now. He was walking down North King's Street one day, and an English soldier saw him, and shot him dead. When the army asked him why he was killed, the officer said, 'because he was probably a rebel.' So don't say you were not at your best."

Before she could say anything in response, Lord Grantham came out, and said

"Sorry to keep you waiting, but we're going to have to step on it."

He opened the door for him and, giving Sybil one last angry look, he got in the car and drove away without a backward glance.

As he drove Lord Grantham to and from Ripon, his rage settled, and guilt welled up inside him. He had been unkind to her, unkind to the woman he loved, and if he had had any chance of winning her over, it was surely gone now. He shouldn't have spoken to her that way, but the way she talked about the Easter Rising as though it was no more than a brawl made him unspeakably angry. He had been close to his cousin, who was one of the most promising men in the family. He had had a good job and had just gotten engaged. He remembered the girl's face when she was told that her fiancé had been killed. Ireland did not deserved to be treated that way by the English army, and of course she wasn't going to say anything bad about them because she had been raised to only think well of them.

He shouldn't have blamed her or taken out his temper on her, but it was too late now. He was preoccupied all through dinner, and went to bed early just so he could think in peace. He tried to sleep, but, as usual, he dreamed of her, and even in his dreams, his guilt carried over, so that every time he saw her, his stomach twisted.

Several days later, he was cleaning the headlight of one of the car's in the courtyard, when O'Brian approached him and said,

"So, you're not going to war then?"

He felt a swoop of anger in his stomach. He tried to keep his temper in check, he didn't want to make an enemy of O'Brian, so he merely said, shortly,

"Apparently not," he continued, "Is it true about Mr. Crawley bringing a famous general here?"

He tried to sound nonchalant, but this was a matter of great importance to him.

"Captain Crawley," she corrected him, he felt his mouth twist in anger, but said nothing, "But yes, why?"

"No reason," he said. But this was not true. As he had said to Sybil, if he didn't humiliate them one way, he would do it another, and this opportunity fell right into his lap. He wasn't sure what he would do to the man yet, but he had time to think about it.

In the days before the captain's arrival, he tried to think about ways of doing something to the general. For a while he could think of nothing, but then he heard Carson complaining about the lack of footmen for entertaining such a great guest. He seized his opportunity when Carson was checking the silver.

"Mr. Carson, might I have a word?"

"I'm busy with this dinner for tomorrow night," said Carson looking distracted and stressed.

"That's just it," he said, trying to keep his voice casual, "I don't expect you'll be using Mr. Lang, not after last time."

Carson scoffed and said,

"I will not."

"So I wondered if I might be any help."

Carson looked at him, surprised.

"I've waited a table before," he continued, guessing what Carson was going to ask.

"Do you mean it?" asked Carson, looking thrilled. When he nodded, Carson said,

"I know I've no right to ask it of a chauffeur."

"We have to keep up the honor of Downton, don't we?" he said, knowing that this was the most important thing to Carson.

"I'm very grateful Mr. Branson, I'll not hide it, very grateful indeed. You know where to find a livery?"

"I do," said Branson, trying not to smile. He tried to not stare at the soup tureen that Carson was holding either. That was perfect.

"And I gather you won't be leaving us after all?" asked Carson, his back to him now. He looked at him and said, simply,

"Who knows what the future will bring."

Carson looked up at him and watched him go. He planned for the rest of the evening what exactly he was going to do to the general. He would use the tureen and fill it with something vile, and would then pour it over the general. He would surely get attention for that.

He took the opportunity to write a note to Sybil, knowing that after the dinner he would never see her again. He told her he was sorry and that he knew that he would be in prison when she read it. He finished the note with the hope that she would forgive him, and that that meant everything to him. When they all went out to greet the general, he slipped it into some clothes of hers that needed to be taken upstairs.

It would be a pity that he wouldn't be able to see William. He wished that he could tell him a real goodbye, but he only got to say a quick one, because Carson had him running around like a chicken with his head cut off.

When he put on his livery, he became a little nervous. He knew what he was doing, and he knew what kind of trouble it would get him in, but that wasn't what made him nervous. What made him nervous was the fact that he would carry out this deed of pouring slop all over a famous general right in front of Sybil. He knew he would lose any respect she had for him, and it was difficult for him to bear. But he knew he had to do it. It was his last chance.

As he walked upstairs, he passed Mrs. Hughes who said,

"Everything all right, Mr. Branson?"

"I think so, Mrs. Hughes," he said, hopefully not too quickly.

He looked down at the tureen in his hands, and thought maybe he should turn back, forget the whole thing. But he wouldn't. He would go through with it. He started up the stairs, for what he knew was the last time.

He walked through the halls, trying not to think about Sybil's expression when he did what he did, and into the dining room. He kept his facial expression in check when he saw them all in their finery, and saw where the general was sitting. He was sitting in the middle of the table, between Lady Rosamund and Lady Grantham. He wondered what their expressions would be when he got this mixture on their dresses.

Just as he was about to take off the lid, Carson's hand stopped him. He looked at him and tried to force it off, but his and was too strong.

"No!" he hissed looking at Carson.

"Yes," said Carson, calmly.

He thought about making a scene and trying to get to the general that way, but he looked at Sybil, and couldn't stand what she would think of him if he did. He loved her too much to embarrass her family in front of important people. She was more important than his politics. She was more important than anything.

He followed Carson calmly out of the dining room, and though Carson kept a firm grip on him, he knew it didn't matter, he wouldn't have tried anything anyway.

Carson grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and said,

"Get downstairs, now!"

Carson dragged him down there and threw him into the kitchen before saying anything else.

"All right, all right, there's no need to be so rough!" he shouted, trying to throw the butler off.

"There's every need," said Carson, looking outraged, "To stop a murder."

Confusion flooded through him.

"Murder? What do you mean, murder?" he said, looking around at the scene in the kitchen with fury.

"You were going to assassinate the general!" cried Anna.

"Kill the general?" he said, looking at them disbelievingly, "I was not."

They took the lid off of the tureen and Anna and Mrs. Hughes cringed away from it.

"I was going to throw that lot all over him," he said, bitterly.

"What is it?" said Anna, disgusted.

"Oil and ink and a bit of a cowpat, all mixed with sour milk," he said, shrugging, "He'd of needed a bath right enough, but not a coffin."

As Mrs. Patmore poured the foul mixture down the drain, Daisy came in and said,

"I thought you'd taken the soup up, but you left it in the pantry."

"We'll use this," said Mrs. Hughes, pulling a bucket down from the shelf, "It's not been heated but the hell with that, and we'll decide what happens to you later," she said looking at him angrily.

"Later? What about now? How are we to keep this dinner going?" asked Carson, giving him a filthy look.

"I'll serve, Mr. Carson, I don't mind," said William, "Who knows when I'll have the chance again."

They all looked at him, and he was immediately rushed upstairs with the bucket of soup.

"Go back to your cottage and stay there, Mr. Branson," said Carson as he left, "We will decide later."

As he walked back to the cottage, he knew he should have done it when he had the chance. But would he have had the strength to have turned around and looked right at Sybil as he did it? No, he wouldn't have. Her good opinion of him was more important than anything. At least he still had that, he thought bitterly as he walked back to his cottage.

He collapsed on the bed, unable to do anything else. Today had not gone as planned, but he still had a job and Sybil's respect.

He lay there for a long time, wondering if Carson would call the police and have him arrested, or if he would be fired. He hoped that neither would, but he would understand if either were true.

He sat there all night, until he finally fell asleep.

The next morning, Carson him woke him with a dirty look and a telling off. He kept waiting for the final words, the words that said he was fired or they'd be informing the police. But they did not come. Carson was just beginning to tell him how irresponsible he was for the third time when he said,

"Aren't you going to fire me, Mr. Carson?"

He looked at him, still looking disapproving, but not resigned or overly angry.

"No, we are not, Mr. Branson. I'd have to clear both with his lordship, and I would rather not tell him about the incident, if it can be helped."

Relief, warm, sweet relief flooded through him. He would be allowed to see Sybil again, his world would not end with this job. He looked at Carson, and felt that he couldn't express enough gratitude, even though Carson wouldn't know why.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Carson."

"Well, make sure nothing of the sort happens in future, Mr. Branson, or I won't be so forgiving, and I don't want you organizing or going to any more political rallies while you are employed here," he said, and with one last look at him, he left the cottage.

He smiled to himself as he headed to the garage. He had always liked Carson. He was a fair and just man, and he knew somehow that Carson knew he would have been devastated had he been fired. He knew that Carson knew how he felt about Sybil, and even though Carson wanted to run a tight ship, he also knew that Carson wanted to see all his employees happy, no matter what the cost.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you all so much for your reviews and everything! Also, sorry for some spelling errors that people have made me aware of. I honestly have been rewatching episodes as I go, and I copy down what I hear, so sorry for any mistakes there, but thank you for letting me know!**

What Love Can Do Chapter 9

As the war dragged on, the staff seemed to eventually forget about his attempted dirtying of the general. He was an accepted member of the servant's hall again, and he was asked to help with moving heavy things around the house. He drove Sybil only once or twice, and they only talked about the war. She was so busy that she had time for little else except her nursing.

As time wore on, whenever he managed to talk to Sybil he watched her expressions. She looked happy when she saw him, and he became convinced (from what she said and how she acted around him), that she was indeed in love with him, but that she could not say because of her family.

This was what kept him going. He knew that if he could just convince her to run away with him, that they would be happy for the rest of their lives. He renewed his decision once again that he would do anything and everything for her, not that it had ever left. When she had initially rejected him, and he had decided to fight for her, the waiting period between her leaving for training and her return had somehow dampened his spirits. He had felt that he had no hope sometimes and that he should just give up, but this melted away when he had seen her. This had gone off and on; the idea that he should leave Downton and her forever and make himself a new life. But he knew that he couldn't do it. For all his talk, he knew that he had to make her love him, that there was no one else for him in the world.

She came to visit him more and more often in the garage, and he found this encouraging, so one day, he decided to tell her that he knew she was in love with him, and make the proposal that had been swimming in his mind for some time. They had been talking for some time about politics and the war, when she asked him,

"Why did you promise Carson not to stage any more protests? When you wouldn't promise me."

Ah, he had wondered if she had heard about the conditions on which he was allowed to stay.

"I had my reasons," he said, before turning back to the car's motor, which he was cleaning. He wasn't about to tell her that he had tried to sabotage the famous general who had come to the house.

"You won't be content to stay at Downton forever will you? Tinkering away at an engine instead of fighting for freedom? I thought you'd join the rising in Dublin last Easter."

He looked at her. They were very close together, he was close enough to touch her, and it took all he had not to reach out and take her hand.

"Might've. If it hadn't been put down in six short bloody weeks," he said, rather bitterly, "Don't fret. The real fight for Ireland will come after the war and I'll be ready for it. I won't stay at Downton forever, you're not the only one that can decide for themselves, you know." She smiled at this and a voice in his head said, _Now's your chance, Tom. Do it now. Tell her._

"The truth is, I'll stay at Downton until you want to run away with me."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, looking at him with an almost sad expression on her face. He continued,

"You're too scared to admit it…but you're in love with me."

She looked shocked, but before she could say anything, Lady Mary's voice caused them both to look around,

"Branson," she said, apparently oblivious to the conversation they had just been having, "Could you take me into Ripon at three? I'm getting some things for Mama, is there anything you want?"

She looked at Sybil, but Sybil merely said,

"Nothing you could find in Ripon."

She walked away, and he took that Lady Mary couldn't find anything in Ripon for her, because she knew what she wanted, and it was him. He watched he go, trying not to look too smug.

The only thing of note that he did in the next few weeks was drive Mrs. Crawley to the train station, where she was leaving to take a job of some kind in France.

As the weeks wore on, Sybil came more surreptitiously to talk to him, and he noticed that she came less. He made no note of it, however. He wanted to give her time, so that she would give him the right answer.

Mr. Moseley seemed to be around more and more, probably because Mrs. Crawley was gone. He knew that many servants felt useless when they had nothing to do. This was not all that important, at least not to him. Mostly he was consumed with one question, _Was she even considering what he had said?_

He hoped with all his heart that she was. He loved her so much that it would be sort of alright if she had even considered it. He wanted her to be happy, and he was relatively certain that he was the one to make her happy.

He had to drive Lord Grantham to a pub to see Bates. He had hoped that Bates would have been back by now. He missed his wit and his ability to keep O'Brian and Thomas at bay. He also missed Anna's happy expression whenever she saw Bates. It had been hard on her when he had left with his wife. He knew, though, that Bates did love Anna, by just the way he looked at her.

After Bates' return, he noticed that Lady Mary looked at him rather suspiciously. He wondered if Sybil had told her about how things were between them. That night, she came to see him. She leaned in the doorframe, and he leaned on the workbench. He thought how casual they must look, the nurse and the chauffeur.

"So Bates is back," she said, smiling, "Papa must be pleased."

"Mr. Carson won't be sorry," he said, also smiling.

"Oh, Branson, there's something you ought to know," she said, he face falling. He felt his stomach drop. Was this her answer? With that look on her face it was clearly a no. How would it look if he dropped to his knees and begged her to stay?

"I've told Mary."

He was glad that she hadn't said no to him, but this opened a new world of problems for them. Lady Mary could tell her parents what he had said tonight, and he would be out of a job by the morning. He half laughed and looked at the ground and said,

"I see. Well that's me finished then…without a reference."

"No, she's not like that," Sybil said quickly, trying to placate him, "You don't know her, she won't give us away."

"But she won't encourage us, either," he said, standing up to face her.

"No," she said quietly.

He couldn't help himself from smiling, full on smiling right in front of her. _Us_, she had said. She had used the word _us_.

"Why are you smiling? I thought you'd be angry," she said curiously.

"Because that's the first time you've ever spoken about 'us.'"

She didn't say anything, but half smiled and looked down, turning slightly pink. Every sign like this was encouraging to him now. She looked as though she were about to leave, so he stopped her by saying,

"If you didn't care, you would have told them months ago."

"Oh I see," she said, rather angrily, "Since I don't want to you lose your job it must mean I'm madly in love with you?"

"Well doesn't it?" he asked simply.

"You say I'm a free spirit, and I hope I am," she still looked quite angry, "but you're asking me to give up my whole world, and everyone in it!"

Now he was angry. He couldn't stop himself from being angry, not when she was saying things like this, things to burst his bubble.

"And that's too high a price to pay?" he asked, looking at her.

"It is a high price! I love my parents, you don't know them, and I love my sisters and my friends-"

"I'm not asking you to give them up forever, and when they come around I will welcome them with open arms."

"And what about your people?" she asked hotly, "would they accept me? And what about my work?"

Now she was just making up things that stood in their way. He was so angry at her, the next words were out of his mouth before he had really registered what he had said,

"What work? Bringing hot drinks to a lot of randy officers?"

She looked very, very hurt by this, and he knew that he had to fix what he had said, immediately, if he ever wanted to have a chance with her.

"Look, it comes down to whether or not you love me. That's all. That's it. The rest is detail."

She shook her head slightly, but did not seem as angry as before. She didn't seem to know what to say, and neither did he.

"Well, goodnight," she said, rather awkwardly, and walked out into the night. He sat down on the workbench and put his head in his hands. He had really done it now. Would she ever look at him the same way again?

A few days later, at the concert for the men, he stood behind her. He could smell her perfume and see her dark hair behind her nurse's habit. When they all started singing, he was too distracted by her to join in. It was truly impossible to distinguish voices with so many singing, but he fancied that she had the most beautiful voice in the room, and he could not take his eyes off of her.

Then, suddenly, it all stopped when Crawley and William walked in. He knew that they had been missing for days, and he was happy to see them both alive. There was some doubt that they would come back at all, and he could tell that Lady Mary would have liked nothing better than to throw herself into Crawley's arms. When Crawley and the rest started singing, he felt that he might as well join in. He saw her turn and look at him, and he hoped that she thought that he had a good voice.

When he took the Dowager Countess home that night, he hummed the song quietly along to himself, hoping that one day, he would think back on it as their song.


	10. Chapter 10

**Again, thank you all so much for all the reviews, and I have edited the mistakes that I had, but please let me know if you find more, (note on this, in this chapter, Branson said a name that I honestly could not understand, so forgive me on that score). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.**

What Love Can Do Ch 10

And again, the war dragged on, and there was little news of Matthew and William. Sybil continued to come and see him in the garage, and though these were the best parts of his day, and he was tired of hearing about nothing but the war. He wanted them all to be safe, but honestly cared more about what happened in Russia and in Ireland than in the war. He knew that men were giving their lives for England, and all he could think about was the fact that his people died not for their country, but because the British army felt that they should die.

In 1918, Moseley came to the house in the middle of the night with a telegram for Mrs. Crawley. Crawley had apparently been injured and was being brought to the hospital at Downton for treatment. There was no news of William, and he knew that, whatever she said to the contrary, Daisy was worried about him.

The next day, Lady Edith took the car, and when she returned, he apparently was in some hospital, and that his injuries, along with Crawley's, were very serious. The whole house seemed under a shadow, and though the Dowager Countess was trying to get William back to the hospital at Downton, the house was still extremely worried about him and Crawley.

The day Crawley was due to arrive, Sybil approached him in the garage and said,

"Can you drive me to the hospital?"

"Aren't you needed here? I've already taken Lady Mary down.

"I know," she said, looking sadly at him, "I want to be with her when Captain Crawley arrives, "They can manage here without me for a while."

"Is she still in love with him?" he asked, wondering if she would even answer him.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He thought that he knew why. It was because he was the chauffeur, and she was trying to distance herself from him, because she was trying not to be more in love with him that she already was. For some reason, this made him angry and, once again, he spoke without thinking,

"Why? Because I'm a chauffeur?"

"No, because she's my sister," she said, looking at him rather curiously.

"You're good at hiding your feelings, aren't you," he said as he pulled on his jacket, "All of you. Much better than we are."

"Perhaps," she said, "But we do have feelings, and don't make the mistake of thinking we don't."

She climbed into the car, and closed the door. They said nothing to each other as they drive into the village. He couldn't help but thinking that he had made matters even worse by speaking so casually to her. He kept telling himself to control his temper around her, and yet whenever they were together, she managed to say something that made him angry. She was more than a match for him, of course, but he hated to fight with her.

When William arrived at Downton, word was going around downstairs that William was going to die, that he could not recover. And Crawley was, in all probability paralyzed. He felt so bad for them both. For some reason, he never thought that it would happen to them. He had always felt that they would be safe. But he supposed that no one was really safe in war.

Several days later, Sybil came into the garage where he was reading the newspaper and said,

"Mary's telephoned. She'll be on a late train that gets in at eleven," something in her tone told him that she was still angry with him, and he couldn't stand her being angry at him right now.

"All right," he said shortly, though he wanted to tell her that she was beautiful, "How's William?"

She looked at him sadly and said,

"It's so sad. Edith's taking care of him, but there's nothing to be done. We're waiting really."

He didn't look at her, he was lost in his own thoughts. She looked at him, appearing concerned and said,

"What is it?"

He paused, wondering if her should really tell her what was bothering him. Would she even care? Yes, of course she would, she was the most caring person in the world.

"They shot the Czar," he said, looking up at her, "And all of his family."

"How terrible."

"I'm sorry," he said, and he almost felt he was apologizing to her, because he had been so sure that they wouldn't be shot, "I'll not deny it. I never thought they'd do it. But sometimes the future needs terrible sacrifices. You thought that once."

He looked at her in such a way to make sure that she understood that he wasn't talking about the Czar anymore. He knew he really shouldn't be bringing it up again, but he couldn't help himself, he had to know what her answer would be.

"If you mean my politics, you know we've agreed to put that to one side until the war is won," she sounded mildly offended, and that was not what he wanted, but again, he felt himself starting to lose his temper.

"Your lot did," he said accusingly, "but Sylvia Pancrest was all for fighting it out."

He knew that he was suggesting that she had given up on her cause too soon, and he knew it would make her angry, but he didn't care, he had tot know why she did it, and some part of him wanted to know how far he could push her. She looked angry and disgusted and said,

"Oh, don't badger me, please," she started to walk out, and he knew that he had to stop her, he didn't want them parting on bad terms again. Without thinking he put a hand on her waist. That stopped her in her tracks, she looked at him shocked, and he wondered if he had gone too far. But she didn't look angry. He took his hand away, and looked at her intently.

"Sometimes a horrid sacrifice must be made for a future that's worth having. That's all I'm saying. That's up to you."

She leaned forward slightly, and for a moment, for one glorious moment, he thought that she was going to kiss him. But then, she took a deep breath and turned away, looking as though it cost her everything to do so. He closed his eyes and tried not to let the disappointment show on his face as he watched her go. But this moment only confirmed in his mind that he loved her, but couldn't say because of her family. He spent the rest of the day and most of the night thinking about what she had said and what she had almost did.

As Daisy and William's wedding approached, he kept thinking what his and Sybil's wedding might be like. He was driving her Ladyship to Ripon at the time, and by the time he got back, it was over and William was almost gone. He was glad that he had shaken his hand the day before, because he had wanted to say goodbye to William, but didn't want to interrupt his last hours with his father and Daisy.

He went to bed thinking of weddings and Sybil and William. He woke the next day to find that William was dead, and he thought that too many had been lost in the war already.


	11. Chapter 11

**Here is another chapter, please keep all the reviews and support coming, you are all so wonderful!**

What Love Can Do Chapter 11

As the war was seemingly drawing to a close, he wondered how Sybil would be occupied after the war was over. He was sure they would all be glad that it was over, and he would be glad that he and Sybil would be able to talk about politics again. They had discussed some during the war, but not nearly as much as they used to, not since she had said that she would put it all to one side until the war was over.

She still came and visited him, and something seemed to have changed since they had nearly kissed. There were fewer visits than before, as though she was distancing herself from him, and he took this as a sign that she was at least considering the possibility that she loved him and needed time to think it over.

One day, he was working under the car, when he heard footsteps approaching and her voice said,

"I wish I knew how an engine worked."

He looked up at her from under the car and said,

"I could teach you if you like."

He knew that she wouldn't accept, but still, part of him naively hoped that she would.

"That's Edith's territory," she said simply, and he tried to console himself that she visited him more than Lady Edith ever had, even though she was the one who was interested in cars.

"I thought you were avoiding me," he said, trying to keep the slight edge out of his voice. He missed her visits and it made him antsy when she did not come for days at a time.

"Of course not," she said, approaching him quickly and lowering her voice. He turned. Had she made her decision? Was he finally going to know if it had all been in vain or not? He looked at her face, and he knew that she hadn't, she did not have a settled look about her, as he knew she would when she did indeed have an answer for him.

"But you haven't come up with an answer yet, have you?"

He tried not to look too disappointed. Sybil smiled at his tone and said,

"Not yet, I'm afraid. I know you want to play your part in Ireland's troubles, but I just can't think about it all until the war is over. It won't be long now, so will you wait?"

How could she ask such a question? Would he wait? He had waited longer than a few weeks for any kind of sign that she liked him, let alone that she loved him. He had waited years for her to become open with him, weeks were no problem! He did want to be in Ireland and play his part, but not as much as he wanted to have her by his side to do it.

He looked at her, and said, intensely,

"I'd wait forever."

"I'm not asking for forever," she said," Just a few more weeks."

He smiled at her, and when she smiled back and walked back to the house, he felt his spirits soar. She was at least considering a yes. He was sure of it.

As the days went by, he heard from the downstairs' staff that there was a man who would have displaced Crawley and taken over Downton as heir. He wasn't sure he believed what they said about him. After all, hadn't the original heir, Patrick, died on the Titanic six years before? Even if he had been suffering from amnesia, the whole story was just too convenient for him. Granted, he didn't know all the details, and he sometimes wanted to ask Sybil what she thought of it all, but he reminded himself that he was trying to give her space, and asking her about her private familial matters would not achieve that.

One night at dinner, which he was having in the servant's hall with everyone else, he and Carson were talking over politics and the possibility of a German republic.

"A German republic? No, I don't think so Mr. Branson. The Kaiser will go, I'll grant you, and maybe the Crown Prince too, but there will be a regency, mark my words. Monarchy, is the lifeblood of Europe."

He shook his head. The nice thing about talking to Carson was that Carson could keep up with him in a discussion. He was sad that Carson was leaving Downton to follow Lady Mary, and he felt that Downton wouldn't be the same without him. He was an integral part in the running of the place, and it was almost as if it could not function without him.

"I'm sorry Mr. Carson, but I think you'll find that the kings and emperors have had their day. If President Wilson has anything to say about it."

Before Carson could respond, Lord Grantham came in and told them all that the war was over. The whole staff celebrated and broke out the wine, but his happiness was outside of theirs. He was quite happy to have peace, of course, but this also meant that Sybil would have to give him her answer sooner rather than later.

The next day, he also heard that the potential heir had fled the house. In his mind, it confirmed that he was an impostor. It was good for Crawley at least, and he had come to respect Crawley, so he was happy for him. He knew the house would no longer be a convalescent home, and that Sybil would not need to be at the hospital anymore. The prospect of seeing her more made him happy, very happy.

On the eleventh, at five to eleven, they all gathered in the main hall to mark the cease-fire, and the end of the war.

"I think while the clock strikes, we should all make a silent prayer, to mark the finish of this terrible war, and what that means for each and every one of us. Let us remember the sacrifices that have been made, and the men who will never come back. And give them our thanks."

As the clock struck, he thought about all the changes he had undergone throughout the war, and all those who Downton had lost. He also thought of how he and Sybil had progressed throughout it and how the war had given her the courage to stand up for what she wanted. He only hoped that she had the courage to do it after the war as well.

When the clock had finished striking, Lord Grantham said,

"Thank you everyone. Remember, this is not just the end of a long war, but the dawn of a new age, God bless you all."

They all went back downstairs, and Branson couldn't help himself from looking at Sybil. Their eyes met and she smiled at him. He went downstairs, feeling that the ending of the war might be beneficial in more ways than one.

With that smile, he knew she would be brave enough to stand up for what she wanted, even if what she wanted was someone like him, who was so different to what her family wanted for her.

After the ceremony they had upstairs, a few of them were sitting in the servant's hall when Bates had a telegram, saying that his wife was dead. They all looked around at each other, but none of them could say that Bates was very sorry. His wife was a nasty woman who had prevented a divorce between them for a long period of time. Maybe this meant that he and Anna would be able to marry. If there was hope for them, maybe, just maybe there was hope for him and Sybil.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you all for being patient with me, I'm sorry the last post was such a long time ago! Please keep the reviews coming, they mean a lot to me!**

What Love Can Do Chapter 12

He paced the garage, it had been too long since she had come to see him. Every time he saw her, he had to hold back the urge to run up to her and ask her if she had made her decision. The last time she had come to see him, she had mentioned how busy she was with returning the house to normal. He looked at her, searching her face for some reaction about her life going back to normal. She seemed to know what he was thinking and said,

"I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if I were not born into the aristocracy."

He looked up at her. He knew that they would have been free to marry one another if she had not been born into the aristocracy.

"Do you wish you hadn't been?"

"Sometimes. I sometimes wish that I could have been raised differently, but then I suppose that I wouldn't really have become who I am."

She left soon after that, and in the silence she left in her wake, he pondered her words. Did this mean that she wished she could marry him, but felt that she could not because of her family? He hoped with all his heart that she would be strong enough to marry him even though it would make her family extremely angry. He knew they would probably disown her, but he believed, no, he _knew_, that he could make her happy until her family came around.

Several weeks later, he was sitting in the garage after dinner, hoping that she would come, as it was still quite early. He had taken to doing this every night, waiting around, reading and rereading the paper until he saw the lights start to go off in the house and then, and only then, he would concede that she would not come to see him that night and go to bed.

She was dressed up, out of her nurse's habit, and was wearing one of her gowns. He knew that her mother had had it made for her season, but he felt, all the same that he should compliment her without giving away that he knew where this dress was from, he didn't want to make her feel he was watching her too closely.

He looked up from the motor and looked her up and down. She looked beautiful, as always, and he was glad to have the opportunity to look at her. She smiled at him and, encouraged by this he said,

"You look very fine."

She looked down, turning slightly pink at his compliment.

"Everything I own is from my season before the war, I'm trying to wear them out."

They stood there for several moments, looking at each other, until she continued,

"Where've you been all day?"

"Nowhere, I've just been busy."

This was true, he had had to drive to the station, pick up the Mrs. Crawley, Ms. Swire, and the Dowager Countess that day, though he had tried to stay in the garage as much as possible, hoping she would come by and see him. She took a step closer to him, and her felt his heart stop.

"I envy you," she said, looking intently into his face, "I feel so flat after the rush and bustle after the last two years. They were sighing for the old days at dinner, but all I could think about was how much more I want from life now than I did then."

He looked at her, his heart pounding in his ears. Was this it? Was this her answer? Was _he_ was she wanted from life?

"Does this mean you've made up your mind? At last?"

She looked at him and whispered,

"No, not quite, but almost."

As the disappointment washed over him, he smiled ruefully and looked at the ground. He couldn't stand it anymore. He knew he would wait forever, but he had never imagined how painful forever would be.

Then, without warning, she reached out and took his face in one of her gloved hands. He looked at her, astonished, and felt the blood rush to his face at her touch. They stood there, looking at each other, but before he could say anything to her, she gave him a brief kiss on the cheek and went to the house.

He stared after her, and touched the place where she had kissed him. He felt as if she had branded him with that kiss.

She plagued his dreams more than ever that night, and the next few days were terribly restless for him. He kept thinking that he heard her approaching, to give him her answer. Yet whenever they spoke, they did not speak of the thing that was hanging over both their heads.

The rest of the house was distracted by Carson's imminent leaving and Bates' wife's death. So, perhaps rather luckily, no one noticed his increased depressed state.

As the days went by, he felt more distracted from his work and even his politics. She plagued his thoughts more than ever. He could not deny his happiness, however when Carson announced that he would not be leaving Downton. He could have never imagined the place without Carson, even though, if all went well, he and Sybil would be leaving Downton for a long while.

Several weeks after she had kissed him, before their dinner, he was sitting with several of the others in the servant's hall when Carson came running in to tell them all that Crawley's legs were healed, and that he would be able to walk again. The entire house seemed to be celebrating the whole evening, and he could not deny that he was happy for Crawley. He had no problems with the man, and had even come to like him. He was just and honest. He had to go into town to get Dr. Clarkson, the Dowager Countess, and Mrs. Crawley, and after they had been seen into the house, he went into the garage.

He knew that Sybil would probably not come to see him that night. She was probably celebrating with everyone else. He was surprised therefore, to see her walking into the garage. He looked at her, still in her finery and smiled as he put down his paper. It was later than usual, and he tried to keep the hope that she might give him his answer tonight, because she was here this late.

"You're very late," he said," Won't they worry?"

She shook her head slightly and walked toward him saying,

"They're all so excited they won't care where I am."

There was a pause. He wasn't sure what to say, so he decided to talk of Matthew.

"I'm pleased, I like Mr. Matthew."

"He announced at dinner that he wants to get married at Downton," she said, "Somehow it made me feel more than ever that the war is really over, and it's time to move forward."

He felt the familiar sensation that his heart was in his throat. He had been put off by her so many times, told to wait by her, told that they would never work for so many years. Was it finally time to know whether his heart would survive all these years intact?

"Does this mean you've made your decision?" he asked, trying to ignore the battle that raged in his head. Half of him was telling him that she could not possibly say no, that they were meant to be; while the other half told him that they would never work, that she was simply too far above him.

"Yes," she said, "My answer is…that I'm ready to travel, and you're my ticket, to get away from this house, away from this life…"

She smiled widely, and it took him a second to process what he had said. In the wave of shock and joy that consumed him, he blurted out,

"Me?"

"No, Uncle Tom Cobley," she said, and at his expression of confusion, she laughed.

"I'm sorry," he said, unable to contain his smile, "But I've waited so long for those words, I can't believe I'm hearing them. You won't mind burning your bridges?"

"Mind?" she said, "Fetch me the matches!"

He leaned in to kiss her, and didn't think about it until she drew back a fraction in shock. He stopped where he was, not wanting to push things to far, but she said,

"Yes, you can kiss me, but that is all until everything is settled."

"For now, God knows it's enough that I can kiss you," he said, stroking her face. She laughed softly, and their lips met.

He felt as if he was flying. As their lips moved together, in perfect synchronization, he reflected over how much he had learned about himself over the years. He never thought he could love someone as deeply, as passionately, as intensely as he did Sybil Crawley. And after all his struggles and fights, he had finally won her heart.

The kiss was passionate, pure, and utterly perfect. When they broke apart, she smiled at him, and squeezed his hand gently. She departed after giving him one last kiss.

He sank onto his workbench, feeling that his happiness could not be experienced by anyone else. He didn't think about what his mother or family would say, or what her family would say. She was all that mattered to him now, and he would do absolutely anything for her.

The next day, she came to him in the garage, with an air of business about her.

"We need to discuss how to leave."

"What?"

"I don't want to wait to marry you. I want to do it now. We don't have to tell my family. We can elope. Go to Gretna Green."

"Don't you want them to know where you've gone?"

"I love my family, but I just want to go. I'll leave them a note telling them where I've gone."

"When do you want to do it?"

"In the next few days. As I said, I will not wait to marry you."

She kissed him swiftly and walked quickly out of the garage. He watched her go, and couldn't help feeling a twinge of regret. Downton had taught him so much and he liked the people he worked with. Yet, his love for Sybil overpowered his love for those at the house. He couldn't deny that he loved many of those at the house in his own way.

The days dragged on, and they spoke every day, trying to plan when the best time to get away was.

They had settled on a day. Sybil was to say she was feeling ill and then sneak out of her room and to the garage where he would be waiting to drive them to Gretna Green. He was nervous and paced the garage. She slid in stealthily, carrying a suitcase with her. He hoisted into the car, and she whispered,

"I locked the door. They oughtn't know where I've gone until the morning, and by then we will be far away."

She looked nervous, and stared at the motor. He squeezed her hand, trying to alleviate some of her guilt and stress. He knew she was giving up everything for him, and he said under his breath.

"I love you, you know."

She smiled at him gently.

"I know, and that's why I'm able to give it all up without a backward glance."

She got into the car, and he followed suit. She was next to him, holding his hand and clearly trying not to look back at the house. As they headed down the road, he sang some of the lullabies from his childhood, trying to make her sleep, and she finally drifted off on his shoulder. He tried to focus on the road, but had to check on her every few minutes, because even though he could feel her warm weight against him, he had to see that she was still there. He stooped at an inn called the Swan Inn. It was on the road, but, as Sybil had said, they wouldn't know about their elopement until morning, when they would already be gone. He would get a job in Ireland as a journalist, and they would start their new lives together.

He roused her from the seat when they arrived, and let her have the bed in the room. They sat together for a while, clearly both thinking about the strangeness of their situation.

They had been there hardly and hour when Lady Mary, Lady Edith, and Anna all burst into the room. He stood up and said,

"How did you find us? How did you know?"

"Never mind that," said Lady Mary, with a soft sigh of relief, "At least nothing's happened, thank God."

"What do you mean nothing's happened?" demanded Sybil, angrily, "I've decided to marry Tom and your coming after me won't change that."

"This isn't the way," said Lady Edith, trying to placate her sister.

"She's right," said Lady Mary, "Of course Mama and Papa will hate it…"

"Oh, and why should they?" he said, his temper getting the better of him. Of course it was because he was a chauffeur. An untouchable for them. They would have never dreamed of giving him a second glance.

"Oh pipe down," said Lady Mary, aggressively, "Sybil, can't you let them get used to the idea? Take your stand and refuse to budge, but allow them time. That way you won't have to break up the family."

"They would never give permission," said Sybil, the despair clear in her voice.

"You don't need permission, you're twenty-one," said Mary, "But you do need their forgiveness if you're not to start your new life under a black shadow."

He had to say something, or they would take her away from him, and he would never allow that.

"Don't listen," he cut in, facing Sybil, "She's pretending to be reasonable to get you home again."

"Even if I am, even if I think this is mad, I know it would be better to do it in broad daylight than to sneak off like a thief in the night."

There was a little silence. He watched Sybil's face, and she cast him a sidelong glance. With that glance, he knew his battle was lost. He never thought he could feel pain like that. His heart was broken. She was leaving him, she wasn't strong enough to stay away from her family.

"Go back with them, then," he said, not troubling to keep the hurt out of his words, "If you think they can make you happier than I will."

His voice broke, and she looked at him gently.

"Am I so weak that you believe I can be talked out of giving away my heart in five minutes flat?" she asked, with her usual half smile at him. She glanced at her sisters,

"But Mary's right. I don't like to see it and our parents don't deserve it. So I'll go back with them. But believe it or not I will stay true to you."

With these last words, she kissed him on the cheek, and turned to follow her sisters and Anna out of the room, trying to hold back her emotions. As Lady Mary left the room, he said,

"I'll return the car in the morning. You're confident you can bring her round aren't you?"

"Fairly, I'll certainly try," she said. She turned to leave then turned back and said,

"Do you want some money? For the room?"

He looked at her, and tried to have the utmost politeness in his response.

"No thank you my lady, I can pay my own way."

He closed the door behind her as she left, and sat down on the bed, still warm from where Sybil was sitting. He put his head in his hands and cried, cried like he hadn't cried since he was a child. He wanted to believe that she would be true to him, but the lure of her family, of financial security, of her whole life hung over her decision.

He wanted to talk to his family, but knew that he had to go back and pretend that nothing had happened.

He returned the car the next morning. He ate breakfast with all the others, and only got one odd look from Anna. She was too good to tell anyone what he had done. He waited for Sybil. She did not come.


	13. Chapter 13

**We're getting down to the real stuff here. Thank you for all your support, it means a great deal to me! Please keep the reviews and criticism coming! Always let me know if you see blatant mistakes, and I will edit them immediately.**

What Love Can do Chapter 13

It was not until the next day that she came to see him. She walked in quietly, hardly making a sound. He stood up, and looked at her. She could not meet his eyes.

"Is this it, then? Have you come to tell me that we won't work?" he asked, looking resignedly at her.

"No," she said, looking at him, "I told you that I'd be true to you, and I will stick to that, but we will have to wait until some things are settled until we get married."

"Like what?" he said, trying not to sound too angry. He knew he should be grateful that she wasn't leaving him, but at the same time, they would be married right now if her sisters had not interfered.

"I think Mama and Papa will be more inclined to accept us if you have a job as a journalist first. So, I've been looking at job listings in Ireland for a journalist, and there seem to be several openings that might work for us," she held out the paper, and he took it from her, looking at the listings she had circled.

"Also, I would like if your mother knew what was going on, so that I could stay with her when we move there, because when we tell my parents, there will be no need to run to Gretna Green and elope, and I still feel that it would be just a little too much if we lived together _alone_ before we were married. So I was thinking that it would be easier if you told her now, so that she has time to prepare."

He smiled at the paper, thinking of how happy he was that she had thought all this out, and yet battling the anger and sadness that he would not have her as his wife immediately. She seemed to know what he was thinking and gripped his hand gently.

"I know it's not ideal, but part of me really wants them to know, and I do want to be there for Matthew and Lavinia's wedding. But I hope you do know that nothing has changed, and I will marry you, whether I have their approval or not."

She kissed him on the cheek and left the garage. He looked down at the paper she had left with him again, and knew that the only way he could speed the process along was to apply for jobs immediately and write to his mother without delay.

That evening, he sat down to write his mother first, before really perusing the job listings.

_Dear Ma,_

_It's probably been too long since I've written, and I know you'll be wanting me to visit soon. I have some news for you and the family, but I also have a favor to ask you. You know how I feel about Lord Grantham's youngest daughter, and even though you told me to leave her alone, I just couldn't do it, and now we are engaged. We almost made it to Gretna Green, but her sisters caught us before he would make it. Now, she wants to wait until I have a job as a journalist in Ireland before we get married, and tell her parents about us. So, my favor is that she doesn't want to live alone unmarried when we move to Ireland, so I was wondering if she could stay with you before the wedding. I know that it's a lot to take in, and that I'm leaving a good steady job for her, but she's worth it. I've never felt this way before, Ma, and more than anything, I want your approval. There's really no hope that her parents will approve, so her only family will be us. I'm not sure when there'll be more news, but I'll let you know as soon as I can. _

_Love,_

_Tom_

He set down his pen, and reread the letter. That was the best he could do. He couldn't think of a better way to put it, anyway. He put the letter in an envelope and addressed it to his mother. He set it aside and then pulled the job listings toward him.

The next three months passed by rather quickly. The only truly interesting news for him was that of the jobs he had applied to. He couldn't leave for an interview, so they had to make do with his references and the letters that he wrote to them. He had gotten several rejections, and while they disheartened him, Sybil always managed to find a bright side.

"Well, maybe this is just making way for an even better position in the future!" she said, reassuringly squeezing his hand, "I have complete faith that one of them will come through soon!"

He had also gotten a response from his mother. It was not exactly the response he had wanted, but it was what he had expected.

_Tom,_

_Oh, honestly, I knew that this was going to happen! You just cannot keep your opinions to yourself, even to the daughter of an earl. I suppose I have no choice, and though I think you are both foolish and out of your minds she can stay with me until you are married. Love is a rare thing, Tom, and you had better be prepared to endure quite a storm when her family finds out about this. You let me know the second anything changes._

_Love,_

_Your mother_

Hw had assured Sybil that it was a good sign that she agreed to take her in at all. They did not see each other as much as he would have liked, because she was getting ready for Crawley's wedding, and they had to be careful not to be spotted by anyone when they were together.

Only a week before the wedding however, he got some wonderful news at last.

_Dear Mr. Branson._

_After careful consideration, we at the _Southern Star_ would be glad to have you as a member of the investigative journalist team. Please let us know immediately if you are still available for the post and when you are able to make your journey to Dublin, where we have just opened a new branch for our investigative team._

_With best wishes,_

_D.D. Sheehan III _

_Editor in Chief_

He read the article in disbelief. He had a job! They could finally go to Ireland! He could hardly wait to tell Sybil, and he had his chance only hours later when she snuck into the garage. When he told her the news she threw herself into his arms. He held her, feeling happier than he had in months.

"When should we tell them?" he asked her.

"Soon. Now that you have a job, they should know soon. How about tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes, it's a good a chance as any, Granny will be there as well, she'd probably want to hear it from us in person, rather than from Papa."

He nodded, and thought about the formidable Dowager Countess. He dreaded her reaction almost more than Lord Grantham's. She told him to put on his best suit and wait by the drawing room until she could get him and announce their plans.

He was nervous as he waited by the drawing room later that evening. He kept pulling at his clothes and hoping he wouldn't be spotted by one of the servants, he didn't want to have to explain himself. Finally, he decided that it was time, and entered the drawing room.

They all looked around at him as he entered, and Lord Grantham said,

"Yes?"

His eyes immediately sought Sybil, and he looked only at her as he said,

"I'm here."

"So I can see," said Lord Grantham, clearly surprised.

She walked over to him quickly and said,

"I don't think this is such a good idea, we mustn't worry Granny."

But he wasn't taking her excuses anymore, he was here, and he was ready to tell them all.

"You've asked me to come, and I've come," he said, looking around the room. Carson was there, looking surprised and angry that something was going wrong in the evening.

"Would someone please tell me what is going on? Or have we all stepped through the looking glass?" said the Dowager Countess looking around the room.

"Your grandmother has as much right to know as anybody else," he said, stepping away from her.

"Why don't I find that reassuring?" said the Countess, looking at him imperiously. His heart was pounding, and he thought for a moment that he should step back and let Sybil do the talking, but he knew that he had to face them, or he would never be able to do it.

"Tom and I are going to be married," said Sybil, simply.

There was a moment of shock, and then, Lord Grantham said, in a deadly voice.

"What did you say, Sybil?"

"I said I was going to marry Tom. We're planning to move to Dublin."

"When did this happen?" demanded Lord Grantham, looking at her.

"It's been rather a long time actually," said Sybil, looking at her father completely without fear, "We were planning to go to Gretna Green some time ago, but we were stopped by Mary and Edith."

Lord Grantham's head snapped around to Lady Mary, who said,

"Yes, I knew."

"What do you mean you knew?" he said, half shouting.

"I hoped it would blow over, I didn't want to split the family when Sybil might still wake up."

"And all the time you've been driving me about, bowing and scraping and seducing my daughter behind my back?" he shot at him.

"I don't bow and scrape," he said, aggressively, "And I've not seduced anyone. Give your daughter some credit for knowing her own mind!"

"How dare you speak to me in that tone? You will leave at once."

"Oh Papa," said Sybil, giving him a withering look.

"This is a folly," said Lord Grantham, with a mirthless laugh, "A ridiculous juvenile, mad-"

But the Dowager Countess held up her hand to stop him.

"Sybil, what do you have in mind?"

"Mama, this is hardly-"

"No," the countess cut Lord Grantham off, "She must have something in mind. Otherwise she wouldn't have summoned him here tonight."

"Thank you Granny," said Sybil, looking mildly relived that her father had stopped shouting, "Yes we do have a plan. Tom's got a job on a paper. I'll stay until after the wedding; I don't want to steal their thunder, but after that I'll go to Dublin."

"To live with him," said Lady Grantham, speaking for the first time and looking as if she was about to faint, "Unmarried?"

"I'll live with his mother while the bands are red, and then," she looked at him, unable to contain her smile, "We'll be married, and I'll get a job as a nurse."

He heard Lord Grantham sigh from the fireplace, as though it was painful to listen to his own daughter's happiness.

"And what does your mother make of this?" asked the Dowager Countess, looking at him.

"If you must know, she thinks we're very foolish," he said, trying to appear arrogant, though he wasn't sure if it worked.

"Oh," she said with a half- laugh, "Well at least we have something in common."

Lord Grantham suddenly turned around and shouted,

"I won't allow it! I will not allow my daughter to throw away her life!"

"You can poster it all you like Papa, it won't make any difference!" said Sybil, raising her voice to her father for the first time.

"Oh yes it will," said Lord Grantham, his voice threatening.

"How?" asked Sybil, "I don't want any money, and you can hardly lock me up until I die! I'll say goodnight, but I can promise you one thing: tomorrow morning nothing will have changed. Tom," she said quietly, and left the room. He stared at Lord Grantham, and then turned away, seeing him almost start after him as he did. It took all he had not to turn around and face the man head on. He had nothing else to lose, except perhaps, go to the police for fighting with the Earl of Grantham.

He followed Sybil out into the hall where she turned to face him.

"I didn't expect it to go well-" she began.

"Nor did I, but I'm surprised your father didn't hit me."

Rather reluctantly it seemed, she smiled.

"I think he was probably close to it. You'll be staying at the Grantham Arms in the village?"

"Yes," he said, "If you need me, I'll be there."

She wrapped her arms around him and whispered,

"I love you."

He held her back, feeling her never wanted to let go,

"And I love you."

She let go of him after a moment, and he made his way back to the inn in the village. He thought of what had happened, and how her life was now changed forever because of him. He vowed to himself again that he would do everything in his power to make her as happy as possible.

The next morning, he went over to Downton and into the servant's hall to collect his things. He knew that he would not have a warm welcome, and was not surprised by the silence that fell when he entered the room. He knew that most of them must know what he had done, and he fleetingly wondered how many of them hated him for what had happened.

Anna approached him and said,

"Mr. Branson, I know that it wasn't easy last night."

He appreciated her words, and was glad that Anna did not hate him, but he said,

"We should have spoken out long ago."

They all looked at him, and Daisy said,

"Spoken out about what?"

Of course, Daisy was never told anything, why should she know?

"Oh, why not?" he said, "Lady Sybil and I are getting married."

Carson entered the room from behind him and said, the rage clear in his voice,

"Have you no shame?"

He was struck by Carson's words, as though he had committed a heinous crime by loving Sybil, but he had come here determined to be respectful, and held to this.

"I'm sorry you feel like that Mr. Carson. You're a good man. But no, I have no shame. If I die of great pride in the love of that young woman and I will strive to be worthy of it."

"I will not disgrace myself by discussing the topic, and nor will anyone else," said Carson, sitting down, "Now if you will go, Mr. Branson, we will continue with our day. Leave an address where we many forward what is owing to you."

He looked around at all those he had worked with for so long, and then back at Carson,

"No problem there, Mr. Carson. I'll be at the Grantham Arms in the village until Lady Sybil is ready to make her departure. I bid you all a good day."

He walked out of the servants hall and back to the village, feeling a sort of sadness that his life at Downton was over, but at the same time he knew that his life would be much better because he would be with the woman he loved.

Later that day he received a note from Sybil that said that her father would not accept any of their plans and that they may have to go without his permission. He could read the pain that she felt at this idea, but he had expected it. He sat up for a while, thinking about how their lives had changed. He knew that it was worth it, he just had to convince her the same.

The next morning, he received word that Lady Grantham, Carson, Ms. Swire and several of the maids at Downton had come down with Spanish flu. He spent most of that day waiting for any kind of word from Sybil, but he knew that she must have been busy tending her mother. He prayed that she would not come down with anything, because he had heard of some of the cases of the disease in London, and knew that it was often fatal. He could not have stood it if he lost her now.

The next morning, he was sitting in his room at the inn, when Lord Grantham himself arrived. He thought he knew the reason: he was going to try and talk him out of marrying Sybil. They stood, looking at each other for a few moments when Lord Grantham said,

"Well Branson, what will it take for you to stop from ruining my daughter's life?"

This bold, cold statement cut him to the core and got the better of his anger. He tried to keep it in check by saying,

"What do you mean, milord?"

"Don't pretend, Branson," he said, "She is too far above you, and if she marries you, her life will be irrevocably ruined, you must accept that. You also must accept that she will be cut off from her family forever, is that what you want for her?"

"But I don't accept that I am ruining her life!" he exclaimed angrily, "Nor that I'm cutting her off from her family, if you want to cut her off that's your decision."

"But how will you look after her? How can you hope to provide for her?"

He understood. Just because he wouldn't be as rich as the Earl of Grantham meant that he could not _hope_ to provide for Sybil.

"With all due respect, milord," he said, trying again to not be angry, "You seem to think that she can only be happy in some version of Downton Abbey, when it's obvious that if she wanted that life she would not be marrying _me_."

Grantham stared at him, and then threw his hat and stick on the bed. He went to the small chair and table and took out his checkbook, saying,

"Very well, I had hoped to avoid this but I see that I can't. how much will you take to leave us in peace?"

He stared at the man in front of him, stunned that he would try to buy him off so that he would leave. What man would stoop that low to avoid an imprudent marriage? Did it ever cross his mind that this would break Sybil's heart?

"What?"

"You must have doubts," said Lord Grantham, steadily, as though this was a normal as breathing, "You said your own mother thinks you foolish."

"Yes, she does."

"Then yield to those doubts, and take enough to start a new life back in Ireland, I'll be generous if we can bring this nonsense to an end."

He could not help but smirk slightly. This man did not know him, or his character. If he wanted money, he would not have gone chasing after his employer's daughter.

"I see," he said, turning back to the bed, "You know your trouble, _milord_, you're like all of your kind. You think you have the monopoly of _honor_. Doesn't it occur to you that I might believe that the best guarantee for Sybil's happiness lies with me?"

He had clearly touched a nerve. Lord Grantham stood up and looked at him.

"Well," he said, "If you are not prepared to listen to reason-"

"I'm not prepared to listen to insults," he shot back at him.

"Then I will bid you a good day," said Grantham, snatching up his hat and stick, "And I want you to leave the village."

He half smiled at the earl, and said,

"Even though she'll come to me the moment I call, do you really want me to leave now, when I'll take her with me that same hour?"

Grantham stared at him a moment, and then stepped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He sat down on his bed and let out his breath. He could hardly believe that he had said such things to the Earl of Grantham, but as his mother said, he could not hold in his opinions, especially when he was angry. He had often thought that Sybil would balance him out, because she could keep up with him, and yet was far more mild mannered than he was. He had never thought that Lord Grantham could do what he just did. He had always respected Lord Grantham, appreciated the way that he had treated his servants. But now he realized that he was just like all the others, he didn't give a damn about any of them, and any disruption in his little world meant that his whole mask of caring disappeared. Yet he had always been able to get rid of these disruptions with money. But he was a disruption that would not budge, and that aggravated Lord Grantham. Money couldn't buy everything. Lord Grantham had just learned that.

The next few days, he gained his news from the talk in the village. He heard that the wedding had been canceled, and that Lady Grantham was far, far worse. He was worried about Sybil, he knew how devastated she would be if her mother died right before she went away. He remembered when his father had died. How he had coped was anybody's guess. His mother had been nearly unreachable for a time, and he and Seamus had had to take care of themselves. He had been fourteen and Seamus had been twelve. It had not been long after than when he had gotten a job to earn for the family. Losing a parent was not quite like losing anyone else. He wished he could be with Sybil, hold her, tell her everything would be alright, but he dare not go near the house now.

He heard almost nothing the next day, except that Lady Grantham was worse still. He didn't want to think of it, but he was becoming more and more sure that she would not last. He knew that they were not on the best terms, but he did not want any of them to die. He went to bed that night thinking of Sybil, and wishing he could see her.

The next morning, he heard that Lavinia Swire was dead, and that Lady Grantham would live. It was such a turn of events that he was shocked. He was sure he had heard that Ms. Swire was doing much better, and that she was expected to make a full recovery, and he was sure that Lady Grantham would not. He couldn't imagine how Crawley was feeling, having your fiancée stolen away from you only days before your wedding must be one of the hardest things to ever experience. He wasn't sure he would be able to live if Sybil was taken away from him. But, at the same time, he still had a feeling that maybe Crawley and Lady Mary had some sort of feelings for each other. He always noted the way they looked at each other.

Sybil came to see him the day after Lavinia's death. She came into his room and quietly closed the door.

"I was able to get away. They won't notice I'm gone."

She sat down on his bed and put her face in her hands. He held her quietly.

"I can't believe this happened. Poor Matthew. Poor Lavinia. She was always so kind. Why her?"

"I don't know."

"Will you come to the funeral. It's on Monday. Please. I need you there."

"Of course I'll be there. I'll always be there for you."

She hugged him.

"I should get back, they'll be wondering where I am."

She kissed him and quietly got up to leave.

Monday came rather quickly, and he came up to the large congregation in the cemetery without anyone noticing. He found Sybil near the front and stood right behind her. He touched her shoulder gently and she turned around and smiled at him. She pulled him next to her and took his hand. The ceremony was short, and he noticed both the Dowager Countess and Lord Grantham looking at them. But he didn't care. He was here for Sybil, and it didn't matter what they thought of him. At the end, almost the entire crowd dispersed, and she said,

"It's so sad."

Then, Lord Grantham approached them and he felt himself involuntarily tensing. He hadn't told Sybil what he had tried to do, but he felt uncomfortable around Lord Grantham now.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"To pay my respects to Ms. Swire. And to see Sybil," he said, calmly.

"Lady Sybil," he said, almost automatically.

"Oh Papa," said Sybil, rolling her eyes, "What's the point in all that nonsense?"

"I suppose you'll go to Dublin now, isn't that your plan?"

"In a day or two. Mama is well again and I see no reason to delay. Although I do so wish we could have parted friends," said Sybil, looking at her father pleadingly. Lord Grantham looked at her, and then at him.

"And what about you? Do you want to 'part friends?'"

"I do. Although I don't expect to."

They turned away, and were walking along the path to the village when Lord Grantham said,

"All right."

"What?" said Sybil.

"Well if I can't stop you, I see no profit in a quarrel," he said, looking resigned, "You'll have a very different life from the one you might have lived, but if you're sure it's what you want."

Sybil smiled widely and looked at him,

"I am," she said, looking back at her father.

"Then you may take my blessing with you, whatever that means."

Sybil looked overjoyed and said,

"Oh Papa, it means more than anything, more than anything!" she cried, hugging him tightly. Lord Grantham looked at him and said, seriously,

"If you mistreat her, I will personally have you torn to pieces by wild dogs."

"I'd expect no less," he said, half smiling.

"Will you come over for the wedding?" asked Sybil, hopefully.

"We'll see, we'll talk about that later. And there'll be some money. But not much."

Sybil smiled again and kissed her father on the cheek. Lord Grantham then did the unthinkable, and held his hand out for him to shake. He took it, and knew that while they weren't exactly allies, they weren't enemies either.

He and Sybil turned and, hand in hand, walked back down the lane, and he felt his heart swell at the prospect of his new life with her in Dublin.


	14. Chapter 14

**Here we are, the end at last. Thank you all so much for all the reviews and everything you have given me. I know it sounds terribly cliché, but I really couldn't have done it with all the support you've given me. I've thought about continuing the story, but I'll see what you think before I make a decision.**

What Love Can Do Chapter 14

"There it is, Tom! Dublin! Our new life!" exclaimed Sybil excitedly. It had been about a week since Lavinia Swire's funeral, and they were finally in Ireland. He couldn't deny that he was glad to be home, and they only had the hurdle of the wedding to cross now. And of course…his family. He knew they would accept Sybil but, they were so _loud_. He knew it was silly to feel embarrassed by them, but Sybil had never experienced a thing like them before.

When they got to shore, he collected their bags and walked swiftly up to his mother's house. She was not far from the docks, and Sybil had insisted that they not get a car when they got there.

"I'm going to be walking a lot of places now, Tom, I need to get used to it."

He reached the house with the dark green door and knocked. He heard the dogs barking and his mother shouting at Seamus to,

"Get the door, now!"

His twenty year old brother opened the door and beamed when he saw who it was. Seamus was taller and lankier than Tom, and had messy reddish hair that could never stay straight. He was always carefree and happy-go-lucky, and nothing seemed to ever bother him.

"Tommy!" he cried, hugging him tightly, "About time! And this must be Sybil, come on in!"

He led them into the familiar sitting room, where he immediately dropped their bags. It hadn't changed since he had been there. He could hear his mother bustling around in the kitchen and she called,

"Who was it, Seamus?"

"Come in here and see, Ma."

She came in, and saw them. She was stout and rather like Mrs. Patmore, severe, stern but good natured all the same.

"Tommy, welcome home, m'boy. And you must be Sybil," she looked at Sybil who smiled nervously back, "Well, come on into the kitchen, then."

He walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table, Sybil perched next to him, taking it all in. Seamus and his mother sat down across from them.

"Well, how was the journey?"

"Good, Ma, thanks."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did you ever get approval?"

"We did, actually," piped up Sybil, "In fact, they might be coming up for the wedding, once everything is settled."

"Well, I wouldn't have expected that, but I'm glad it's so. Speaking of, when do you want to have the wedding?"

"I have to report for my job first, Ma, and we need to look for a house as well. Lord Grantham's given us a little money, but it's more than enough for a house in town."

"So you're staying here, then?" asked Seamus, looking happy. Seamus had always looked up to him, and had been very disappointed when he had gone to England to work at Downton.

"Yeah, this is where my job is, and Sybil will be able to get a better shot a nursing if we're in a big town like Dublin."

"Sybil, would you like to see your room? I daresay it's not going to be what you're used to but-"

"Please don't think that I'll compare to what I'm used to. I'm here to start a new life, not remember my old one."

His mother smiled at this response and led her out of the room. He and Seamus sat there for a minute before Seamus said,

"She's a nice girl, Tom. She's not what I thought you'd pick, but, you really love her, don't you? I can see it all over your face."

"I do. More than anything," he felt his face growing warm and said, changing the subject, "What news on the rebellion?"

"Not much. They've been quiet recently. The Easter Rising took it out of them, since then not much."

"I want to do something."

"Be careful, Tom. You have someone to look out for now, be careful about making trouble."

He looked at the table, and knew that his brother was right, he had to look out for Sybil, that was his main goal.

They planned the wedding over the next few weeks. He and Sybil found a nice little house in Dublin, and he reported for work. He wasn't really given much to do in the beginning, but was willing to work his way up.

Meanwhile, Sybil met a good deal of his family, and she often told him how much he loved his brother and adored his mother. She seemed to be adjusting to her new life fairly well, and had already found a position as a nurse in a local hospital.

One evening after work, he went by his mother's house to see Sybil. He walked through the door, and his mother walked up to him, looking concerned.

"Sybil got a letter today, Tom," she said, looking at him carefully.

"So?"

"She's been up in her room since. I thought I heard her crying but-"

He was already up the stairs. He knocked on her door, and when she did not answer, he just went in.

She was lying on her bed, her face in her pillow, a letter in her hand.

"Sybil?" he said, tentatively.

She sat up, wiped her eyes, and held out the letter for him to read.

_Dear Sybil,_

_I am so glad that you are enjoying your life in Dublin. I am afraid that your father and I cannot come to the wedding. Papa does not feel it's right to leave the estate right now, and I do not wish to make the journey without him. Mary and Edith would be delighted to come, however. We wish you and Branson the greatest happiness and do hope you can come home soon._

_With love,_

_Mama_

He looked at Sybil and knew that she understood that her father did not want to come to her wedding. He held her quietly and let her slowly cry herself into silence.

"It'll be alright, darling," he whispered into her hair, "Mary and Edith can come, so some of your family can be there to-"

"But not my parents. My parents are too disgraced by me to even come to my wedding. Can't they see how happy I am? I am finally free to do as I wish and be who I want to be with. This is what they should want for me!"

"I know but they-I love you, isn't that enough?"

She smiled at him.

"Of course, I just wish they could understand."

"They will, in time," he promised, "And for the wedding, Seamus can walk you down the aisle and my cousin Dean can be my best man. Is that alright?"

"Of course. Thank you, for always being there for me."

"You know I always will be."

He led her downstairs so that she could eat something before going to bed. His mother but a bowl of stew in front of her and put an arm around her shoulder, saying words of comfort to her. He had been surprised how quickly his mother had taken to Sybil, but she seemed to adore her.

As the wedding drew closer, he began to feel anxious. He carried her ring with him everywhere, afraid that he might lose it, and he began to lose sleep.

The day before the wedding, Mary and Edith arrived, and they decided to stay with his mother instead of in an unfamiliar inn. They were pleasant enough, and seemed to be excited for Sybil. That evening, he gave her a long kiss, their last one before the one that sealed them as husband and wife. He, Seamus, and several of his cousins went to a nearby pub to have a few pints, and after this, he headed to their new house to try and get some rest.

He rose the next morning feeling both nervous and excited. He dressed in the wedding suit that his father had worn, and headed to the church. His cousin Dean was already there, and clapped him, grinning, on the shoulder.

"Old boy Tommy's finally tying the knot!" he cried, joyfully.

Over the next hour, he watched his family and friends arrive in droves. They all congratulated him, shook his hands, clapped his shoulders, and were generally merry, but he just wanted to see her. Finally, he saw Mary stick her head out of the closed door and nod to the priest who called everyone to rise. Mary walked down the aisle, holding a bunch of wildflowers, Edith followed her. Then, he felt that the whole room had lost the air. There she was, walking next to Seamus, in a beautiful white dress, with white flowers in her hair. She was smiling at him, as he had always hoped. He felt he must have looked very stupid, but somehow he didn't care. She faced him, but he hardly heard a word of the sermon the priest gave. He mindlessly said his part,

"I Thomas James Branson, take thee, Sybil Rose Crawley to be my wedded wife…"

He hung on her words,

"I Sybil Rose Crawley, take thee, Thomas James Branson to be my wedded husband…"

The priest finally gave the order for the ring. He pulled it out. It had been his mother's, and she gave it to him to give it to the girl he loved, and here he was, giving it to the woman he loved with every fiber of his being.

"With this ring, I plight thee my troth, as a symbol of all that we promise, and all that we share," he said, hoping he didn't stumble over the words. He pushed the ring on her finger. A perfect fit.

"It gives me great pleasure to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Thomas James Branson."

They kissed, sealing their vows, and he felt as if his whole life fell into place at that moment. It had all been worth it. Their arguments, her rejections, her father's anger, his mother's exasperation. It was all worth it. _She _was worth it.

There was a party after the wedding, but he could only look at her. The way she laughed at his cousin's jigs, how she held him when they shared a dance. How she smiled at all those who were now her relatives as well as his.

It was well into the night when they finally let them go to their home. He led her, silently to their bedroom, where there were lighted candles already there (he inwardly made a not to thank Seamus later). He kissed her gently, tenderly, and laid her down on the bed.

The next morning, he woke tangled in sheets next to her. He couldn't remember being this happy in his life. He got up quietly, pulled on underwear, and went into the kitchen to make coffee. She came out in a dressing gown a few minutes later, and wrapped her arms around his waist. There was hardly any need for them to talk that morning, and they spent the majority of the day in the house. They explored the house and each other together, getting used to the idea that it and they were the other's new home.

The next few months passed quickly, and he had never been happier. Though she sometimes came home later than him, and while they were tired most of the time, it was a happy, loving, wonderful life for them both. They visited his mother almost every day, and he was slowly working his way up at work, as was she.

One day, near new years, he came home, to find her sitting in an armchair by the fire, waiting for him. He sat down next to her.

"I have something to tell you, Tom," she said, rather nervously.

"What is it?"

"I saw the doctor today."

"Don't you see him everyday?" he joked, but her face remained serious. Fear crept into his mind. Was she ill?

"And, he told me what I already knew. I'm pregnant, Tom."

He stared at her, shock registering in his brain. Then, there was joy.

"Pregnant?," he sputtered.

She laughed at his expression, and he wrapped his arms around her. Nothing else would ever matter than her and his children. And, in that moment, Tom Branson was the happiest man in the world.


End file.
